MARY  T.REiLEY's  POEMS. 


l\n 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1379.  by 

ANN  CARROLL   RETLEY. 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Printed  by 

NAAR.  DAY  &  NAAR. 

Trenton.  N.  J. 


CONTENTS. 


PREFACE,  vii 

MEMOIR,                    .                        .  ix 

UNNAMED,  .           5 
LONGER  POEMS — 

WATER  LILIES,    .  87 

THE  HOLY  GRAIL,    .  94 

CLASS  SONG,        .  .       103 

xSiR  WULFERE'S  QUEST,          .  104 

VOICES,    .  .114 

THE  ROVER,  .  120 

IN  THE  SOUTH,     .  .128 
RETROSPECT,    .                                   .136 

HEART'S   DESIRE,  .       140 

LONG  AGO,     .  146 

TAKING  THE  VEIL,  .       152 

SOLOMON  GRUNDY,     .            .  161 

ORIGIN  OF  THE  VALENTINE,        .  .166 


IV. 


Page. 

DIALECT  POEMS — 

FRANK  DE  LEE,  175 

THE  HIGH  WATER,          .  .       181 

JOHN  GrAiR,   .                        .  .            190 

THE  CARPET-BAGGER,     .  .       199 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS — 

SOUTHERN  WOODS,     .  209 

MISTLETOE,          .  .211 

CEDAR  AND  PINE,      .            .  213 

DECORATION  DAY,  .       214 

ALL-MERCIFUL  LOVE,             .  218 

TRUST,     .            .            .            .  .221 

EIGHTEEN,     .  2?  3 

THE  SCHOOL  MISTRESS,     .           .  .       225 

A  FRAGMENT,             .             .  .             229 
INDIAN  PIPE,       ....       233 

IF  You  HELD  YOUR  HAND  TO  ME,  .             235 
FLOWERS,             ....       239 

A  STORM,       .             .  240 

A  PRAYER,           .             .  .       241 

THE  EMPTY  NEST,      .  242 

DEAD  LOVE,        .  .       246 


Page. 

A  HAUNT,      .  .  249 

A  SUNSET,  .  .  .251 

PAST  AND  FUTURE,  .  253 

LOUISIANA,          ....       254 
THE  DEATH  ANGEL,     .          .  256 

PARTING,  .  .  .  .257 

ABSOLVO  TE,  259 

DOUBTS,     .  .  .  .       262 

THE  BABY,     ....  263 

I  WEEP,    .  .       264 

WEAVING,      .  265 

LOVE,       .  .  .  .267 

THE  KING,     ....  268 

GONE,      .  .  .  '  .269 

MELUSINA,     .  .270 

A  VALENTINE,     .  .273 

FLOWERS,       .  .  .274 

SONNET  TO  KEATS,  .  .275 

I  HAVE  MUCH    To    DO,  276 


PREFACE. 


These  poems  were  consigned  to  my  care  for  com 
pilation  as  they  were  left  by  the  author  at  her  early 
and  sudden  death.  A  few  had  been  published,  but 
the  majority  were  in  abstract  books,  or  on  scraps  of 
paper,  just  as  she  had  first  written  them  with  little 
or  no  revision  from  her  after-thought.  Only  a  few, 
and  scarcely  noticeable,  alterations  have  been  made 
by  the  editor.  Some,  perhaps,  have  been  retained 
from  loving  recollections  of  the  times  and  places  in 
which  they  were  written  that  the  author's  matured 
taste  and  judgment  would  have  rejected.  The  wood 
cut  which  illustrates  the  "Indian  Pipe"  was  made 
from  the  author's  own  drawing,  and  generously  of 
fered  to  her  friends  by  the  publishers  of  "The  Pacific 
Rural  Press' '  in  which  paper  the  poem  originally  ap 
peared.  Her  last  work  she  had  prepared  for  publi 
cation  except  giving  to  it  a  name.  I  have  called  it 


as  she  left  it,  "Unnamed."  A  number  of  the  mis 
cellaneous  poems  also  had  no  titles.  Where  the  name 
seemed  to  grow  out  of  the  poem,  or  where  I  remem 
bered  what  she  liked,  I  have  given  names  to  such. 
Several  I  have  been  unable  to  name  appropriately. 

To  the  work  I  have  given  only  the  patient  care  of 
a  great  love,  wishing  that  the  taste  of  a  poet  and  the 
skill  of  a  scholar  had  been  mine  to  give. 

ED. 


MARY  T.  REILEY. 


The  unfulfilled  promise  of  this  bright  young  life  is 
one  of  the  sad  losses  brought  by  the  yellow  fever 
which  desolated  so  many  southern  homes  in  the  sum 
mer  and  autumn  of  1878. 

MARY  T.  REILEY  was  born  at  Blairstown,  New 
Jersey,  May  18,  1858.  Her  father  the  Rev.  John 
A.  Reiley  was  an  earnest  and  efficient  minister  of 
the  Presbyterian  church.  Her  mother,  whose  maid 
en  name  was  Ann  Carroll,  was  until  her  marriage  a 
member  of  the  society  of  Friends. 

Mr.  Reiley  in  1866  removed  with  his  family  con 
sisting  of  his  wife  and  seven  children,  four  sons  and 
three  daughters,  to  Oak  Grove,  a  large  plantation  ten 
miles  from  Clinton,  Louisiana. 

May,  as  she  was  always  called  by  her  family  and 
intimate  friends,  then  seven  years  old,  was  the  fifth 
child  and  youngest  daughter.  The  childhood  which 


X. 


she  recalled  in  after  years  was  spent  in  the  sunny 
south.  The  flowers,  the  skies,  the  trees,  the  air  the 
very  warmth  of  which  she  seemed  to  love  to  her  were 
rich  in  memories  and  freighted  with  fancies.  As  a 
child  she  was  remarkable  for  her  loving  and  lovable 
disposition,  her  loyalty  to  truth,  the  tenderness  that 
would  spare  the  smallest  insect  pain,  her  early  fond 
ness  for  reading,  the  rapidity  with  which  she  learned, 
and  the  readiness  with  which  she  recalled. 

There  are  royal  methods  of  passage  over  the  com 
mon  road  to  learning ;  hers,  the  swift  easy  flight  of 
the  meadow  lark  above  the  dust  and  toil  of  weary 
plodders.  But  nobler  and  better  than  the  sweet  song 
that  cheered  their  way  was  the  willing  help  and  en 
couragement  she  gave  to  those  who  could  neither 
sing  nor  fly. 

She  began  to  write  when  very  young,  but  most  of 
her  early  poems  are  without  dates  and  many  of  them 
have  been  lost.  There  is  a  little  poem  addressed  to 
her  mother  written  at  the  age  of  eleven;  "Weav 
ing"  was  written  at  fifteen  ;  "  Voices,"  begun  at  six 
teen  and  finished  three  years  after.  Nearly  all  the 


XL 


poems  published  were  written  during  the  last  three 
years  of  her  life. 

Her  creative  thought  was  remarkably  spontaneous 
and  under  its  control  she  composed  with  wonderful 
rapidity,  showing  on  some  occasions  the  rare  power 
of  improvising.  During  the  recital  of  "Decoration 
Day"  On  that  Day  of  Memories,  a  year  ago,  several 
lines  of  the  poem  escaped  her  mind  and  she  impro 
vised  others,  she  alone  knowing  that  anything  was 
missing  or  made.  "Heart's  Desire"  was  nearly  all 
written  amid  the  noise  and  confusion  of  a  fifteen 
minutes'  recess  at  school.  At  one  of  the  meetings 
of  a  literary  society  of  which  she  was  a  member, 
there  were  unexpected  visitors  present.  The  presi 
dent  was  mortified  on  account  of  having  a  meager 
programme,  and  noticing  Miss  Reiley's  pencil  busy 
during  the  exercises  ventured  to  call  upon  her.  To 
the  surprise  and  delight  of  all  she  read  a  witty  poem 
describing  and  explaining  the  situation. 

Many  of  the  humorous  things  she  wrote  were  so 
related  to  incidents  local  and  temporary  in  their 
interest  as  to  be  unintelligible  to  the  general  reader. 


XII. 


Her  humor  was  fine  and  delicate,  and,  though  not 
one  of  the  strongest  elements  of  her  poetical  power, 
hardly  finds  a  sufficient  representation  in  her  printed 
works. 

Her  last  work  "Unnamed"  was  written  during  the 
latter  part  of  July  and  August  1878.  When  we  real 
ize  that  this  work  was  done  in  the  intense  heat  of  a 
southern  summer,  during  a  few  weeks  after  her  return 
home  following  three  years  confinement  in  school,  un 
der  the  immense  strain  upon  her  sensibilities  caused 
by  the  sympathies  and  anxieties  occasioned  by  the 
reports  of  the  approaching  fever,  and  interrupted  by 
her  attendance  upon  her  younger  brother  during  a 
dangerous  illness  ;  we  can  only  wonder  at  the  power 
God  shrined  for  a  little  while  in  her  slight  form  then 
called  to  its  more  fitting  place  with  him. 

Her  education  was  conducted  at  home,  with  the 
exception  of  one  year  spent  at  a  boarding  school  in 
Clinton,  until,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  in  September 
1875,  sne  came  north  to  attend  the  State  Normal" 
School  at  Trenton,  New  Jersey ;  from  which  she 
was  graduated  June  27,  1878  with  the  highest  hon- 


XIII. 


ors,  having  given  in  scholarship  and  original  work 
evidence  of  being  the  most  gifted  student  of  whom 
the  School  has  record. 

Soon  after  her  graduation  she  returned  to  her 
southern  home.  So  eager  and  anxious  was  she  to 
see  the  dear  ones  from  whom  she  had  been  sepa 
rated  so  long  and  the  home  she  loved  so  much  that 
friends  who  would  gladly  have  kept  her  north  until 
autumn  consented  to  her  going.  No  thought  of  the 
terrible  fever,  which  did  not  appear  in  New  Orleans 
until  three  weeks  after,  and  which  had  never  been  in 
the  neighborhood  of  her  home,  gave  anxiety  to  those 
who  held  her  dear. 

The  father  died  on  the  3oth  of  September,  the 
eldest  sister  Miss  Amy,  on  the  i5th  of  October, 
Mary  T.,  on  the  i6th,  and  during  the  following 
week  Mrs.  Nesom  her  remaining  sister,  and  her 
brother  William. 

Such  is  a  brief  record  of  the  life  that  went  out  in 
the  glory  and  promise  of  its  twentieth  year.  But 
who  shall  write  of  what  she  was? 


XIV. 


"  What  practice  howsoe'er  expert 
In  fitting  aptest  words  to  things 
Or  voice  the  richest-toned  that  sings 
"  Hath  power  to  give  thee  as  thou  wert  ?" 
Thine  was  the  poet's  gift  of  song;  thine,  the  noble 
and  pure  in  girlhood,  the  strong  and  true  in  woman 
hood,  the  faithful  and  fearless  in  Christian  love. 

Across  the  night  of  our  sorrow  and  loss  there  ling 
ers  yet  thy  memory,  dimmed  by  no  regret,  darkened 
by  no  doubt.  Down  the  dreary  way  of  the  days  that 
are  to  come,  where  the  voice  of  singing  is  no  longer 
heard,  nor  perfume  felt,  nor  beauty  seen,  we  peer 
into  the  gray,  striving  by  faith  to  catch,  far  off,  a 
gleam  of  the  radiance  of  thy  present,  praying  that  it 
may  our  future  be. 

H.  M. 


UNNAMED. 

1878. 


LOVINGLY  DEDICATED 

TO 

MARY  I.   VAIL, 
IN  REMEMBRANCE  OF  THE  PROMISE 

OF 
OUR  SCHOOL  DAYS. 


UNNAMED. 

CHAPTER  ONE. 

THOUGHT  the  past  was  dead, 

But  it  revives  once  more. 
I  thought  the  grief  was  fled, 
But  it  returns  once  more. 
And  oh  the  cruel  pain  ! 
It  wakes  to  life  again. 
And  all  my  strength  is  vain 
And  all  my  hopes  are  o'er. 

I  thought  the  dream  was  dead, 
Laid  in  the  grave  of  years. 

I  thought  they  all  were  shed, 
The  piteous  burning  tears. 

But  out  of  the  past's  dark  halls 

A  passionate  spirit  calls 

And  the  dead  comes  forth  again. 


UNNAMED. 

I  thought  I  could  look  in  his  face 

With  never  a  sigh  of  regret. 
I  thought  'twas  an  easy  thing 

The  old  sweet  dream  to  forget. 
But  what,  when  I  look  in  his  eyes, 
If  a  tender  light  should  arise — 
A  light  I  have  seen  before — 
And  kindle  to  life  once  more 
The  dying  flame  of  regret  ? 

And  oh  !  will  it  never  vanish — 
The  ghost  of  the  buried  years  ? 

And  oh  !   must  I  always  remember, 
Remember  with  falling  tears  ? 

Shall  I  never  cease  to  sigh 

For  a  time  gone  forever  by 

And  a  love  that  returns  no  more  ? 

If  only  I  need  not  see  them — 
The  places  where  we  have  been  ! 

We  were  here  when  the  leaves  were  falling, 
We  were  here  when  the  fields  were  green. 


UNNAMED. 

We  have  trodden  these  paths  together, 
We  have  wandered  beneath  these  trees, 

And  I  think  I  should  not  remember 
If  I  could  escape  from  these. 

And  if  only  I  need  not  see  him 

Ever  or  ever  again, 
I  think  it  would  fade  and  vanish, 

This  piteous,  gnawing  pain. 
But  he  is  coming,  coming, 

And  I  must  look  in  his  eyes, 
And  I  tremble  lest  I  shall  see  there 

The  light  that  I  know  arise. 

And  if  only  I  need  not  see  her,  • 

Need  not  look  in  her  face, 
The  woman  who  stands  beside  him 

In  what  should  be  my  place  ! 
For  they  say  she  is  tall  and  stately 

And  her  face  is  sweet  as  a  prayer, 
And  I  know  if  her  husband  loves  her 

I  shall  die  of  a  dull  despair. 


UNNAMED. 

I  met  his  sister  this  morning 

But  she  looked  the  other  way. 
She  will  never  cease  to  hate  me 

That  I  once  a  "no"  did  say. 
But  why  should  she  not  forgive  me  ? 

Her  brother  has  found  a  wife, 
So  it  cannot  be  that  my  shadow 

Darkened  for  long  his  life. 

And  oh  if  she  only  knew  it  ! 

How  hard  it  was  to  speak 
The  word  that  broke  forever 

The  tie  that  should  never  break. 
And  oh  if  she  knew  how  bitter 

Is  this  lonely  life  I  live  ! 
I  think,  though  she  is  his  sister, 

She  could  not  help  but  forgive. 

I  wonder  if  he  is  happy, 

If  he  never  thinks  of  the  past, 

If  he  never  thinks  of  a  sorrow 
That,  he  said,  would  always  last ; 


UNNAMED. 

If  he  never  dreams  in  the  evening 

Of  a  time  he  cannot  forget 
Till  his  soul  grows  sick  with  longing, 

And  a  passionate,  vague  regret. 

If  it  were  only  over, 

If  I  had  only  seen 

The  man  with  his  wife  beside  him 

Whose  wife  I  should  have  been, 

I  think  I  could  forget  him. 

But  it  always  seems  to  me 

He  still  is  the  faithful  lover 

He  always  used  to  be. 

The  very  last  time  I  saw  him — 

The  memory  will  remain — 

His  eyes  were  dim  and  heavy 

With  a  dull  reproachful  pain. 

Would  he  look  at  me  so  to-morrow, 
If  to-morrow  we  should  meet  ? 

Oh  !  that  look  would  wound  me  cruelly, 
But  pain  is  sometimes  sweet. 


10  UNNAMED. 

Or  would  he  stand  there  smiling 
With  a  smiling  wife  at  his  side, 

And  bow  to  me,  coolly,  calmly, 
With  careless,  happy  pride  ? 

I  know  not  which  would  be  harder, 

Which  of  the  two  to  bear. 
May  God  help  me  to  forget  him 

So  well  that  I  shall  not  care. 

I  sat  last  night  in  the  twilight 

And  watched  the  day  grow  dim, 
What  time  the  sorrowing  south  winds 

Were  singing  their  vesper  hymn. 
The  soft  stars  shone  in  the  stillness, 

Up  the  sky  the  moon  did  glide, 
When  sudden  the  ghost  of  a  buried  pain 

Arose  and  stood  by  my  side. 
It  stayed  till  the  starlight  faded, 

And  the  winds  were  far  away, 
And  nothing  remained  but  that  shadowy  form 

Uncertain,  and  vague,  and  gray. 


UNNAMED. 

It  is  over,  it  is  past, 

I  have  seen  his  face  at  last. 

Have  seen  his  face  grow  white  with  pain, 

With  a  sudden  longing,  intense  and  vain. 

And  I  know  that  he  has  not  forgotten, 

That  he  cannot  ever  forget. 

I  know  that  he  has  not  forgotten, 

I  know  that  he  loves  me  yet. 

It  was  just  when  the  night  was  falling, 

And  the  west  began  to  fade, 
That  I  suddenly  came  upon  them 

As  they  walked  in  the  cypress  glade. 
I  came,  unawares,  upon  them 

As  they  stood  by  a  cypress  tree, 
And  a  sudden  change  swept  over  his  face 

As  he  turned  and  looked  at  me. 

As  if  he  had  seen  a  spirit 
He  neither  spoke  nor  stirred, 

But  stared  in  my  face,  until  I  bowed 
And  passed,  with  never  a  word. 


1 2  UNNAMED. 

And  I  wondered  what  he  was  thinking 

As  I  went  over  the  hill  ; 
But  I  know,  whatever  his  thoughts  were, 

I  know  that  he  loves  me  still. 

But  oh  !  the  winsome  woman 

He  married  a  year  ago, 
Where,  and  how,  did  her  girlish  face 

Find  that  look  of  weary  woe  ? 
O  pale,  and  sad-eyed  woman  ! 

He  has  sinned  against  thee  and  me, 
But  the  sin  he  sinned  against  me  was  less 

Than  his  sin  in  wedding  thee. 

O  pale,  and  sad-eyed  woman  ! 

God  help  me  to  forget  ! 
But  what  can  the  future  hold  for  thee 

But  the  pangs  of  a  vain  regret  ? 


It  sings  to  me  in  the  shadow, 
It  sings  to  me  in  the  sun, 


UNNAMED. 

The  sweet,  enrapturing  music 
Whose  strains  are  never  done. 

Oh  !  sweet  as  the  voice  of  a  seraph 
It  sings  and  sings  to  me. 

Oh  !  faint,  and  far,  and  fading, 

It  is  ever  eluding  me. 
Oh  !  give  me  the  words,  lest  I  perish, 

That  I  may  sing  again 
The  wild,  enchanting  music 

That  is  deeper  than  joy  or  pain. 

Oh  !  let  the  tempests  bluster, 
Let  all  the  wild  winds  blow. 

I  loved  my  love  in  a  golden  clime 
Years  and  years  ago. 

But  the  hard  and  cruel  fairies, 
They  stole  my  love  from  me 

And  bore  him  away  to  a  pearly  throne 
Far  under  the  shining  sea. 


UNNAMED. 

They  changed  him  into  a  merman, 

Whose  blood  is  icy  cold, 
Who  thinks  no  more,  who  dreams  no  more, 

Of  the  tender  days  of  old. 

But  let  the  tempests  bluster, 

Let  all  the  wild  winds  blow. 
He  loved  me  true  in  a  golden  clime 

Years  and  years  ago. 

If  I  could  put  my  sorrows  into  words, 

Methinks  my  grief  would  fade. 
If  into  music  I  could  change  my  pain, 

The  sweetest  ever  made, 

If  I  could  turn  my  sore  heart's  dripping  blood 

To  words  of  blood  and  flame, 
I  would  be  willing  so  to  live  again 

A  hundred  years  the  same. 

Oh  !  silvery  white  upon  the  Latmian  isle 
The  fair  Endymion  slept. 


UNNAMED.  1 5 

Oh !  silvery  white  the  goddess  o'er  him  bowed, 
And  love's  hot  teardrops  wept. 

But  fair  Endymion,  he  stirred,  he  woke, 

The  rapture  broke  his  rest. 
And  far  within  blue  depths  the  saintly  moon 

Slept  upon  heaven's  breast. 

Methinks,  alas  !  I  am  Endymion, 

But  Dian,  who  art  thou  ? 
Fair  figure  with  the  backward  sweeping  robes 

And  filleted,  white  brow. 


Sleeping,  sleeping,  the  vision  came  ; 
Waking,  waking,  the  vision  fled  ; 
And  my  heart  is  sick,  and  my  blood  aflame, 
But  my  hope  is  dead,  my  hope  is  dead. 

Over  the  mountain,  and  over  the  moor, 
Silvery  garments  shimmer  and  shine, 
In  her  wonderful  beauty  she  walks  secure 
Wrapped  in  the  robe  of  a  light  divine. 


1 6  UNNAMED. 

Murmurous  music  flows  and  floats, 
The  air  about  me  is  sweet  with  sound. 
In  the  bliss  of  the  faint  and  far-off  notes 
The  sounds  of  the  world  for  me  are  drowned. 

Softly  sighing  adown  the  breeze 
From  the  elysian  meadows  blown, 
A  voice  more  sweet  than  murmuring  seas 
Calls  to  me,  calls,  "  Endymion." 

A  shadowy  form  with  wreathed  arms 
Woos  from  a  cloud  of  amethyst 
On  before,  till  her  half-seen  charms 
Changing  and  vanishing  fade  into  mist. 

Always  anear  me,  yet  always  afar, 
A  vision  seen,  and  clasped,  and  gone. 
A  face  above  like  a  beautiful  star, 
A  voice  that  whispers,  "Endymion." 

Never,  that  star,  while  days  go  by, 
Will  shine  on  me  with  steadier  gleam  ; 


UNNAMED.  1 7 

Only  under  the  moonlit  sky 

I  clasp  my  Beautiful  in  my  dream. 

Yet  the  far-off  music  greets  my  ear, 
My  soul  is  filled  with  its  tender  tone ; 
And  on  the  flying  winds  I  hear 
A  sweet  voice  calling,  "Endymion." 

To-day  I  met  him  as  I  walked  alone 

The  quiet  forest  road, 
And  swift,  at  seeing  me,  a  sudden  light 

Within  his  dark  eyes  glowed. 

I  passed  him  by,  he  turned  abrupt  and  said, 

"  Rejoice  in  what  you  see. 
My  house  is  left  unto  me  desolate, 

Your  hand  has  ruined  me." 

My  heart  beat  quick  within  me  at  his  words. 

I  turned  away  my  head. 
"  Oh  mock  me  not  with  what  yourself  have 
done, 

Your  own  hand's  work!"  I  said. 


1 8  UNNAMED. 

"  My  work  !"   he  slowly  answered,  and  his 
voice 

Was  hoarse,  and  changed,  and  low. 
"  I  loved  you  better  than  my  own  soul's  life, 

And  can  you  wrong  me  so  ? 

The  weary  days  crept  by  and  made  the  weeks, 
The  weeks  have  made  the  years ; 

And  life  has  brought  me  nothing  yet  more  glad 
Than  slow,  remorseful  tears. 

The  day  and  night  are  all  alike  to  me, 

For  dark  are  all  my  days. 
A  pall  of  night  has  settled  o'er  my  life 

And  marred  its  pleasant  ways. 

Forgive  me  that  I  say  it.      I  am  mad  ! 

I  know  not  what  I  say. 
Forgive  me  for  the  madness  you  have  caused 

And  I  will  go  my  way. 

Because  I  love  you  I  will  not  unbraid  ; 
You  could  not  love  me  true. 


UNNAMED.  1 9 

Alas  !  and  what  was  I  to  seek  to  mate 
So  low  a  soul  with  you?" 

I  stopped  him  there,  "  You  shall  not  wrong 
me  so. 

My  love  was  deep  as  life." 
I  said  no  more.     Before  my  spirit  gaze 

I  saw  the  sad-eyed  wife. 

I  would  have  gone,  but  he  constrained  me  still. 

"  One  question  answer  me. 
If  I  had  come  to  you  as  once  I  came, 

Pure  from  that  stain,  and  free, 

Could  you  have  loved  me  even  yet,  my  love, 

After  the  weary  years?" 
He  caught  my  hands,  he  looked  into  my  eyes, 

My  eyes  were  dim  with  tears. 

I  caught  my  hands  away.     I  turned  and  fled. 

God  help  me  !     What  was  I 
That  I  should  throw  away  the  precious  love 

For  which  I  fain  would  die  ? 


20  UNNAMED. 

Every  morn 

When  a  new  day  to  the  earth  is  born, 
The  soft  light  kisses  my  waking  eyes, 
The  soft  winds  say,  Awake,  arise, 
See  what  glories  grow  out  of  the  gray, 

Behold  the  day, 

Every  night 

The  far  stars  shine  with  trembling  light, 
The  winds  are  sighing  unsatisfied, 
The  want  of  the  world  is  unsupplied, 
The  glory  has  faded  and  died  away 

Into  the  gray. 


I  am  weary,  weary,  weary, 

Weary  of  day  and  night, 
I  would  that  my  ears  were  deaf  to  sound 

And  my  eyes  were  blind  to  sight. 
Since  I  hear  not  the  one  sweet  music, 

And  see  not  the  one  dear  face, 
What  to  me  are  all  other  sounds, 

All  other  beauty  and  grace  ? 


UNNAMED.  2 1 

The  one  true  friend  of  my  childhood 

Stood  at  my  door  to-day, 
And,  "Child,"  he  said,  "You  are  white  as  a 
ghost. 

What  is  the  matter?  Say  !" 

The  one  true  friend  of  my  childhood, 

He  knew  the  tale  of  the  past, 
And  I  said,  "He  has  come,  and  I  shall  die 

If  this  horrible  pain  must  last." 
His  face  grew  kind  and  tender, 

He  looked  at  me  pityingly, 
"Child,"  he  said,  "You  are  young  and  weak ; 

Give  your  burden  to  me. 
Come  to  my  heart,  my  blossonij 

I  will  teach  you  how  to  forget. 
I  will  show  you,  darling,  a  tenderer  love 

Than  you  have  dreamed  of  yet." 
But  I  shrank  away  and  whispered, 

"I  can  love  no  more,  no  more. 
Dead  is  love's  flower  within  my  soul, 

Poisoned  the  fruit  it  bore. 


22  UNNAMED. 

Oh  !  my  heart  is  dust  and  ashes, 

Thence  never  can  new  love  bloom  ; 
Deep  in  my  soul  a  grave  is  made, 

And  love  lies  in  that  tomb." 
"O  Child,  Child,  Child,"  he  said, 

"What  of  love  do  you  know  ? 
What  is  that  weak  and  trivial  boy 

That  you  should  grieve  for  him  so  ? 
O  Child,  Child,  Child,"  he  said, 

"  What  do  you  know  of  pain  ? 
Would  you  make  the  love  of  all  these  years 

For  a  girlish  fancy  vain  ? 
That  love  is  over  and  perished. 

You  love  him  not,  it  is  dead."- 
"I  love  him  with  all  the  soul  of  my  life, 

With  all  my  heart,"  I  said. 
His  face  grew  pale  before  me, 

His  voice  grew  suddenly  stern, 
"The  man  you  love  has  a  wife,"  he  said, 

"You  forget  where  his  love  must  turn." 

Forget !  Nay,  I  remember. 
Oh  !  I  remember  well. 


UNNAMED.  23 

He  loves  me,  loves  me,  loves  me, 

More  than  my  lips  can  tell. 

He  loves  me,  loves  rrfe,  loves  me  ! 

Can  such  a  love  be  sin  ? 

But  the  sad-eyed  sorrowful  woman 

Can  never  such  sweet  love  win. 


0  stern  white  face  of  my  childhood's  friend  ! 
Why  do  you  gaze  at  me  ? 

Why  do  you  haunt  me,  sorrowful  wife  ? 
What  have  I  done  to  thee? 

1  do  not  love  him,  I  cannot  love  him, 

And  strange  to  me  it  seems 
How  the  face  of  a  man  I  do  not  love 

Gets  tangled  into  my  dreams. 
But  that  face  it  is  never  tender, 

It  looks  at  me  stern  and  pale, 
And  all  alone  in  the  darkness 

It  makes  me  shrink  and  quail. 


UNNAMED. 

I  met  him  to-day  in  the  meadow 

Where  we  plighted  our  troth  lang  syne, 

And  he  held  out  his  hand  as  he  passed  me 
For  the  rose  I  held  in  mine. 

Did  I  mean  to  give  him  the  rosebud  ? 

Or  did  I  but  let  it  fall  ? 
Why  should  he  ask  for  a  rosebud  ? 

And  what  is  it  worth  after  all  ? 


They  call,  the  far  sweet  voices, 

They  call  and  cry  to  me, 
"Sing  us  again  the  songs  we  sing 

Over  and  over  to  thee." 
But  when  I  fain  would  sing  them 

The  mystical  words  are  gone, 
And  I  think  how  lone  upon  Latmos"  shore 

Sat  sad  Endymion. 

If  I  should  give  up  all  that  I  have  loved, — 
My  life  of  careless  ease, 


UNNAMED.  25 

The  long   days  filled  with  day  dreams,  the 
long  nights 

With  pleasant  fantasies, 
If  I  should  give  up  all,  and  lay  my  life 

Down  low  before  thy  feet, 
Could  I  be  sure  of  gaining  what  I  seek, 

O  Goddess  proud  and  sweet  ? 
If   I    should    toil    through   weary  years  and 
years, 

And  work  in  grief  and  pain, 
Could  I  be  certain  that  my  faithful  toil 

Would  not  be  all  in  vain  ? 
Oh  !  still  it  seems  to  me,  I  cannot  yet 

Give  it  up  all,  up  all, 
Although  for  me  love's  rosy-tinted  hours 

Are  gone  beyond  recall. 
How  can  I  be  content  to  live  through  all  the 
years 

And  ever  be  alone  ? 
Wast  thou  contented  on  the  Latmian  isle, 

White-limbed  Endymion? 


26  UNNAMED. 

I  cannot  get  rid  of  the  hateful  words, — 

The  words  of  my  childhood's  friend, — 
"Have  you  thought  of  what  you  are  doing? 

Have  you  thought  where  this  must  end?" 
I  have  sinned  no  sin  though  my  heart  is  sore ; 

Have  given  my  love  no  sign. 
What  is  a  faded  and  withered  rose 

Betwixt  his  heart  and  mine  ? 

0  stern  of  face  and  stern  of  voice, 
Why  do  you  follow  me  ? 

1  am  no  child  to  slip  and  fall. 

I  ask  no  help  of  thee. 
Why  do  you  haunt  me  ever  ? 

Begone,  nor  come  again  ! 
For  I  know  your  voice  is  stern  and  cold 

Though  your  face  is  white  with  pain. 
One  man  has  kissed  my  lips, 

And  that  is  enough  for  me. 
One  love  has  filled  my  heart, 

There  never  another  shall  be. 

A  letter  lies  on  my  table, 

And  the  writing  I  have  not  forgot. 


UNNAMED.  27 

A  letter  lies  on  my  table, 

Shall  I  break  the  seal  or  not  ? 

0  sad-eyed,  sorrowful  woman, 
Would  your  pale  face  flush  to  see 

The  writing  upon  the  letter 

That  is  lying  here  by  me  ? 
Oh  I  had  greeted  this  letter 

With  kisses  long  ago  ! 
And  now  it  lies  beside  me, — 

Shall  I  break  the  seal  or  no  ? 

THE    LETTER. 

What  a  flood  of  recollections 

Sweeps  over  heart  and  brain, 
As  I  trace  your  name  on  the  paper, 

After  the  years  again  ! 
How  can  I  help  but  remember 

What  pride  bids  me  forget  ? 
How  can  I  teach  my  spirit 

That  I  may  not  love  you  yet  f 

1  have  striven  through  all  the  long  years — 
But  all  in  vain  I  strove — 


2g  UNNAMED. 

To  banish  the  one  sweet  image 

By  another  I  did  not  love. 
Enough  of  that.      I  write  not 

Feebly  to  make  my  moan. 
I  will  try  like  a  man  to  bear  it 

Silently  and  alone. 
You  know  the  pitiful  story 

How  I  wedded  where  love  was  not. 
Long  in  the  past  I  told  you, 

And  the  tale  is  not  forgot. 
Divinely  you  can  pity  ; 

I  sail}  it  in  your  eyes 
The  day  that  you  came  upon  us 

Suddenly,  angelwise, 
And  enough  of  that.      The  story 

Is  painful  to  you  and  me. 
Not  thus  have  I  broken  the  silence, 

WJiich  henceforth  unbroken  must  be. 
I  have  never  sent  you  your  letters, 

They  were  the  last  sweet  tie 
Binding  my  soul  to  its  heaven 

That  far  away  doth  lie. 


UNNAMED. 

And  I  could  not  bear  to  sunder 

The  golden  cord — the  last 
That  held  me  to  all  that  was  sacred 

To  me  in  the  beautiful  past. 
But  a  sense  of  your  right  constrains  me. 

Ah  me  !    What  right  have  1 
To  hold  myself  to  my  heaven 

Even  by  one  sweet  tie  f 
To-morrow,  if  you  will  meet  me 

In  the  place  where  we  met  lang  syne, 
I  will  give  you  back  your  letters, 

And  you  shall  give  me  mine. 
Fear  not  to  come  for  this  last  time. 

Solemnly,  friend,  1  swear 
I  will  say  no  word  that  the  angels 

(J'luld  shrink  from,  hovering  there. 
I  will  say  no  word  to  awaken 

The  ghost  of  the  buried  past. 
I  would  only  see  you  a  moment 

For  the  last  time,  the  very  last. 

And  if  I  take  him  his  letters  ? — 
In  that  there  could  be  no  harm, 


29 


UNNAMED. 

Yet  from  the  thought  of  this  meeting 

I  shrink  with  a  vague  alarm. 
What  would  he  say  about  it  ? 

My  childhood's  stern-faced  friend. 
"Have  you  thought  what  you  are  doing? 

Have  you  thought  where  this  must  end?" 
It  is  right  I  should  give  him  his  letters. 

It  is  right  he  should  give  me  mine. 
But  what  if  I  go  to  meet  him 

Where  we  plighted  our  troth  lang  syne  ? — 
But  what  if  I  go  to  meet  him 

In  our  long  ago  trysting  place  ? 
Should  I  ever  shrink,  O  sorrowful  wife, 

From  your  pale,  reproachful  face  ? 
And  why  should  I  care  for  my  letters  ? 

They  are  nothing  now  to  me. 
Better  give  them  up  to  devouring  flame 

Or  toss  them  into  the  sea. 
I  seem  to  care  for  nothing, 

For  life,  or  love,  or  light. 
I  have  lived  so  long  I  am  weary, 

And  my  strength  is  faded  quite. 


UNNAMED.  7 1 

\j 

I  cannot  forget  the  words  he  spake, 

Herman,  my  childhood's  friend. — 
"Have  you  thought  of  what  you  are  doing  ? 

Have  you  thought  where  this  must  end?" 
I  will  look  on  the  past  and  future, 

Before  it  is  yet  too  late; 
For  I  seem  to  stand  on  the  threshold 

Of  some  dark,  mysterious  fate. 
Why  are  my  pulses  throbbing  ? 

Why  burns  my  cheek  with  flame, 
At  sight  of  the  paper  he  has  touched, 

Where  he  has  traced  my  name  ? 
What  mad,  sweet  dream  am  I  dreaming 

While  my  fears  are  hushed  to  sleep? 
Shall  I  ever  awake  from  this  torpor  ? 

Awake  to  mourn  and  weep? 
For  I  seem  to  stand  unconscious 

On  some  dark  cavern's  brink. — 
And  where  this  might  have  ended, 

O  God,  I  dare  not  think. 
I  will  go  away  and  forget  him 

For  I  cannot  forget  him  here 


3  2  UNNAMED. 

I  will  give  myself  soul  and  body 
To  the  work  that  I  hold  most  dear. 

I  will  never  see  his  face  again 
I  will  think  of  him  never  more. 

I  will  sing  a  dirge  for  the  beautiful  dead 
Whose  sorrowful  life  is  o'er. 

The  seasons  come,  the  seasons  fade, 
Deep  in  my  heart  a  grave  is  made, 
A  still,  cold  form  is  in  it  laid. 

The  flowers  bloom,  and  fade,  and  fall, 
The  clouds  hang  low  and  like  a  pall, 
The  ghostly  winds  each  other  call. 

The  dead  lies  calm  within  its  grave, 
And  hears  no  winds  of  winter  rave. 
Its  rest  is  still.  Deep  is  that  grave. 

A  Secret  folded  round  from  sight, 
A  Secret  dread,  and  cold,  and  white, 
Shrouded  in  silence,  wrapped  in  night. 


UNNAMED.  33 

Silent  I  sit  beside  my  dead, 

The  hours  keep  their  wonted  tread, 

My  soul  to  grief  long  since  was  wed. 

Grief  watches  while  the  sun  is  high, 
Nor  sleeps  while  stars  are  in  the  sky. 
We,  watching,  see  the  years  go  by, 
The  still,  unchanging  years  go  by. 

Now  all  is  over  !     Yet  a  moment's  space 
Furl  back,  O  mists  of  time,  from  off  the  face 
Of  my  dead  love,  and  let  me  gaze  thereon. 

Now  all  is  over  !     Three  short  years  agone 
How  were  all  words  too  weak,  all  looks  too 

cold, 

To  tell  the  love  whose  deep  tide  ever  rolled 
From  his  heart  unto  mine  unceasingly. 

Now  all  is  over  !     Then  this  thing  can  be. 
And  love,  the  true,  the  tender,  and  the  deep, 
Can  fade  as  fades  the  vision  of  a  sleep 
And  leave  behind  no  trace  that  it  hath  been. 


34 


UNNAMED. 

Sunset  upon  the  waters, 

And  sunset  in  my  soul. 

The  light  of  the  cloudy  day  goes  out 

With  a  golden  anreole. 

The  weary  struggle  is  over, 

From  pain  I  have  found  release ; 

I  walk  in  a  quiet  country 

Beside  the  white-robed  Peace. 

I  watch  and  pray  for  the  dawning, 

May  it  herald  a  better  day. 

A  day  that  shall  banish  the  phantoms 

That  lurk  in  the  shadows  gray. 

CHAPTER  TWO. 

The  waving  hair  of  the  willows 

Is  long  upon  the  breeze, 
The  clouds  are  the  beautiful  billows 

Of  azure  deeps  of  seas. 

The  winds  are  the  summer's  kisses, 
On  laughing  lips  they  fall. 

God  fills  the  earth  with  blisses, 
And  his  love  is  over  all. 


UNNAMED. 


35 


O  brave  true  heart,  upon  whose  strength  I  lean, 

And  resting  there  grow  strong, 
Forgive  me  that  in  madness  once,  I  did 

Thy  truth  and  kindness  wrong. 

O  brave  strong  spirit,  in  whose  strength  I  trust, 

And  trusting  it,  find  rest, 
Of  all  good  gifts  to  me  thy  friendship  is 

The  dearest  and  the  best. 


I  have  bowed  low  and  worshiped  at  the  shrine 

Where  dwells  the  Beautiful. 
The  past  indeed  is  past,  and  life  for  me 

Is  round,  complete,  and  full. 

0  God,  I  thank  thee  that  thy  guiding  hand 
Has  thus  far  led  me  on. 

1  thank  thee  that  the  present  still  is  mine 
And  that  the  past  is  gone. 

I  thank  thee  that  more  dear  than  love's  wild 

dream 
Thy  hand  has  given  me 


3  6  UNNAMED. 

The  poet's  dream  of  glory  yet  untold, 
The  poet's  ecstasy. 

The  name  and  fame  for  which  I  fondly  longed 

I  know  cannot  be  mine. 
It  is  enough  for  me  that  I  have  drunk 

The  poet's  mystic  wine. 


My  book  is  finished — my  first  book,  the  child 

Beloved  of  my  brain, 
Brought  forth  in  pangs  of  utter  weariness 

And  throbs  of  pain, 

Written  in  hours  of  rapture  when  my  soul 

Was  filled  with  life  and  light, 
And  words  poured  freely  forth  intense  and 
strong 

Instinct  with  living  might, 

They  rippled  forth  like  upward  gushing  streams 

In  music  flowing  on. 
Now  all  is  over.     Rapture,  pain,  despair 

Alike  are  gone 


UNNAMED. 


37 


My  one  wee  book !  What  fate  awaits  thee  now 

Torn  from  the  parent  nest  ? 
Henceforward  thou  must  make  thy  way  alone, 

My  first,  my  best. 

I  can  do  nothing  for  thee  though  the  world 
Should  spurn  thee  from  its  feast. 

Go  bravely  forth,  O  little  book  of  mine, 
Fly  west,  fly  east. 

Poor  little  book  !  I  pity  thee,  my  child. 

Thou  art  not  what  I  would. 
Thou  wilt  go  forth  into  the  busy  world, 

And  be  misunderstood. 

But  if,  while  great  ones  spurn  thee,  thou  shalt 
bear 

Comfort  to  one  sad  heart, 
I  am  repaid  for  all  my  toil.     I  am 

Contented,  for  my  part, 

If  some  sweet  maiden  trembling  with  the  spell 
Of  love  just  opening, 


38  UNNAMED. 

Find  in  thy  leaves  one  little,  little  song 
She  shall  delight  to  sing. 


If  my  book  were  only  worthy 
The  name  on  an  opening  page, 

It  were  worthy  a  name  in  the  records 
Of  the  noble  works  of  the  age. 

For  who  is  so  true  as  my  true  friend  ? 

And  none  is  so  wise  and  strong. 
Forgive  me  that  once,  my  one  friend, 

I  did  your  friendship  wrong. 

I  wonder  if  he  has  forgotten 

What  he  said  to  me  that  day. 
Would  my  life  have  been  better  and  nobler 

If  I  had  not  said  him  nay  ? 

I  think  of  those  things  calmly 

They  lie  so  far  in  the  past, 
And  I  know  I  have  heard  love's  story          * 

For  the  last  time,  .the  very  last. 


UNNAMED.  39 

Once  when  my  heart  was  younger, 
When  my  cheek  was  not  so  pale, 

I  have  felt  at  a  well-known  footstep 
The  swift  blood  flood  and  fail. 

I  had  half  forgotten  the  feeling 

Which,  after  all,  I  know 
Is  the  sweetest  joy  that  ever 

Our  human  lives  can  know. 

Yet  oft  when  the  flowers  are  springing 

In  the  morning  of  the  year, 
I  wake  to  that  hopeless  sorrow, 

That  old,  long-past  despair. 

Never  again  can  a  new  love 

Bloom  on  the  grave  of  the  old, 
Never  again  while  the  stars  shine 

Shall  I  hear  love's  story  told. 

I  used  to  long  so  madly 

For  happiness  on  earth, 
But  I  feel  as  I  grow  older 

That  joy  is  little  worth. 


UNNAMED. 

Better  to  live  in  sorrow, 
To  know  life's  glory  past, 

If  so  in  the  dusk  and  shadows 
Some  good  be  done  at  last. 

Life's  colors  grow  more  sober, 
Life's  joys  seem  not  so  sweet 

To  our  eyes,  as  we  grow  older 
And  find  all  things  so  fleet. 

Our  joys  like  sorrows  perish, 
Not  love  itself  can  stay  ; 

Ourselves  and  all  around  us 
Must  change  and  pass  away. 

I  sigh  no  more  for  splendor, 
I  am  content  with  shade, 

Content  to  be  sad  and  lonely 
Until  the  daylight  fade, 

If  only  out  of  the  shadows 
Shall  shine  one  burning  star 


UNNAMED. 

To  gladden,  not  my  pathway, 
But  souls  that  faint  afar. 

If  only  when  all  is  over 

Somewhere,  in  some  sweet  heart, 
A  song  of  mine  shall  linger 

Not  ever  to  depart. 

If,  because  my  life  was  lonely, 
I  leave  some  word  to  cheer 

Another  soul  in  the  shadows 
When  I  am  no  longer  here. 

But  my  songs  are  all  unworthy, 
Till  ashamed  I  bow  my  head, 

And  where  my  poor  voice  faltered 
The  hot  tears  come  instead. 

When  the  weary  day  is  over, 
And  pale,  the  glowing  west, 

The  stars  shine  white  in  heaven 
And  still  my  wild  unrest. 


UNNAMED. 

So  free  from  earthly  sorrow, 

So  pure  from  earthly  strife, 
So  still,  and  white,  and  saintly 

Above  the  storm  of  life. 
I  forget  the  restless  struggle, 

The  baffled  search  forget. 
While  the  white  stars  shine  in  heaven 

There  is  beauty  to  live  for  yet. 

Somebody  liked  my  wee  book. 

Somebody  liked  it  not. 
And  the  world  agreed  to  lay  it  aside 

To  moulder  and  be  forgot. 

The  critics  took  my  wee  one 

And  tore  it  limb  from  limb, 
But  Herman  said  it  was  like  myself 

And  therefore  dear  to  him. 

And  some  one  said  in  a  letter, 

"Friend  dost  thou  know  thou  hast 

Perfumed  thy  book  with  the  fragrant  breath 
Of  the  balmy  land  of  the  past?" 


UNNAMED.  43 

White  in  the  moonlight  lies  the  world 

Beauty  rapt  from  toil  and  pain, 
Dreaming  dreams  perchance  of  Eden 

And  her  far-off  youth  again. 

Would  to  God  the  holy  quiet 

Now  might  steal  into  my  soul, 
And  that  off  its  face  illumined 

Back  the  clouds  of  care  might  roll. 

Dian,  sweeter  than  the  starlight, 

Dian,  purer  than  the  snow, 
Image  of  that  dream  of  beauty 

That  I  worshiped  long  ago, — 

Over  soul  and  sense  is  drifting, 
Passion  strong,  and  spirit  sweet, 

Once  again  the  mystic  story 
How  a  god  and  mortal  meet. 

Once  when  youth  was  at  its  flood  tide, 
And  when  strength  was  at  its  hight, 


44 


UNNAMED. 

I,  too,  hoped,  divinely  striving, 
To  attain  divine  delight. 

Like  Endymion  on  Latmos 
I  am  wrapped  in  stupor  sleep, 

But  no  god-smile  cleaves  the  darkness 
Of  that  slumber  still  and  deep. 

Far  away,  and  unattained 
Now  as  then  that  vision  fair, 

And  its  beauty  fills  my  spirit 
With  an  infinite  despair. 


I  suppose  before  long  I'll  be  sighing 
The  vanished  days  of  my  youth, 

I  shall  find  that  the  gray  hairs  are  coming 
Before  I  am  ready  in  sooth. 

I  shall  sit  in  these  rooms  solitary, 
And,  with  my  old  voice  out  of  tune, 

With  no  one  around  to  console  me, 
To  myself  I  shall  mournfully  croon, — 


UNNAMED. 


45 


"I'm  very  old  and  there's  no  one  to  love  me, 
No  one  to  care  for  my  trouble  and  pain, 
None  to  remember  the  lonely  old  woman. 
Qh  for  the  days  of  my  sweet  youth  again  ! 
Oh  for  the  days  when  I  whirled  through  the 

dance, 

When  life  wore  the  glamour  of  sweet  romance, 
When  the  clasp  of  a  hand  made  the  whole 

world  sweet, 

And  my  life  moved  in  time  to  my  flying  feet ! 
Oh  for  the  days  of  my  plighting  kiss 
When  nothing  in  life  ever  happened  amiss  ! 
For  I'm  growing  old  and  there's  no  one  to 

love  me, 

No  one  to  care  for  my  troubles  or  pain, 
None  to  remember  the  lonely  old  woman, 
Oh  for  the  days  of  life's  springtime  again  !" 


Apparent  is  the  Spirit  of  the  woods. 
She  smileth  ere  she  sinks  into  her  sleep, 
The  long,  long  sleep  of  winter  falling  down 
Upon  her  lids  as  falls  the  dew  on  flowers. 


46  UNNAMED. 

The  air  is  dim  with  autumn's  quivering  haze, 
The  trees   are  dark   with   autumn's   somber 

robes, 
Save    where    between    their   sober    ranks   of 

brown 

The  pine  trees  lift  their  heads  superbly  clear 
Against  the  glowing  azure  of  the  sky. 
In  every  hollow  lie  the  withered  leaves, 
But  pine,  and  bay,  and  mystic  mistletoe, 
Still  stand  in  vivid  greenness  to  declare 
Life  sleeps  within  the  wood,  and  is  not  death. 
The  holly  berries  gleam  upon  the  boughs, 
The  barbed  shafts  of  glossy  leaves  between  ; 
And  from  the  hoary  trees,  the  pendant  moss 
Streams  long  and  weird  upon  the  autumn  wind 
Like  tattered  shrouds  of  years  forever  gone. 
There  is  a  calm  within  the  ancient  woods, 
A  solemn  hush  that  calls  the  soul  to  prayer. 
Escaped  at  last  from  city  toil  and  strife, 
I  feel  the  life  of  God  about  my  life, 
And  all  my  soul  lies  open  to  his  love. 
I  dream  of  higher  things.     I  seem  to  feel 


UNNAMED.  47 

An  inspiration  from  the  solemn  woods 
And  wide  autumnal  skies.     My  soul  expands 
To  grasp  the  greatness  of  the  thought  divine 
That  works  in  forms  of  beauty  'neath  my  eyes. 

If  he  had  loved  me  truly  that  bright  day 

That  now  is  long  gone  by, 
Would  he  have  suffered  me  to  say  him  nay 

So  quietly? 
It  was  his  tender  pitying  heart  that  placed 

Love  words  upon  his  tongue. 
He  grieved  to  see  me  left  so  lone,  and  sad, 

And  yet  so  young. 
He  would  have  given  me  such  tender  care 

I  should  not  ever  miss, 
In  the  new  joy,  the  wild  ecstatic  thrill 

Of  first  love's  kiss. 
But  that  is  past  for  me.     Alas  !  it  seems 

That  everything  is  past. 
There  is  no  joy  of  earth  however  sweet 

Whose  life  can  last. 


48  UNNAMED. 

I  sit  here  shocked  and  silent ! 

0  pale  and  sad-eyed  wife, 

Was  thy  husband  never  a  whit  to  blame 

That  thou  wast  weary  of  life? 
I  sit  here  shocked  and  silent 

And  my  cheeks  are  hot  with  shame, 
That  thou  wast  sick  of  the  burden  of  life 

Was  I  never  a  whit  to  blame  ? 
O  Louis,  Louis,  Louis, 

Thou  wast  false  to  me  lang  syne. 
Thou  hast  been  how  false  to  the  gentle  girl 

Whose  life  was  merged  in  thine. 
O  Louis,  Louis,  Louis, 

What  would  thy  hard  heart  care 
If  a  dozen  women  as  sweet  as  she 

Should  die  of  love's  despair? 
O  Louis,  Louis,  Louis, 

1  pray  to  God  above 

To  save  my  soul  from  the  cruel  snare 
Of  thy  wild  and  selfish  love  ! 


*, 


UNNAMED.  49 

I  have  come  through  the  bustle  hither 

To  hear  some  Solons  explain 
What  the  rights  of  a  woman  on  earth  are, 

And  decide  whether  she  shall  remain. 
The  speaker  who  holds  the  chief  station 

Is  very  well  known  to  me ; 
He  is  a  doctor  of  laws,  and  of  logic, 

And  I  think  of  divinity. 

The  doctor  has  turned  on  the  faucet 

Of  the  well-spring  of  knowledge  now. 
Behold  the  deep  corrugations 

That  learning  has  carved  on  his  brow ! 
Behold  as  his  thoughts  soar  higher 

How  they  carry  his  eyebrows  along  ! 
And  his  voice  swells  up  with  a  deafening  roar 

That  would  madden  the  genius  of  song. 
Capacious,  enormous,  stupendous, 

And  more,  is  the  doctor's  mind  ; 
For  all  of  his  vast  personality 

Within  it  is  snugly  enshrined, — 
A  grand,  white  image  of  beauty 

Symmetrical,  perfect,  and  fair. 


* 
50  UNNAMED. 

And  ever  around  it  his  hovering  talk 

Lingers,  or  flies  here  and  there, 
Then  back  to  the  thing  that  attracts  it, 

Like  a  bird  that  hangs  quivering  o'er 
The  serpent's  eye  that  has  charmed  it 

And,  leaving,  conies  back  evermore. 
With  all  that  vast  weight  to  withhold  them 

No  wonder  in  trying  to  fly 
His  thoughts  overburdened  grow  weary 

And  never  pierce  far  in  the  sky. 
Of  old  one  King  Midas,  the  same  one 

Who  had  very  long  ears  as  we're  told, 
Had  a  wonderful  power  of  turning 

Whatever  he  touched  into  gold. 
The  doctor  's  like  Midas  in  one  thing, — 

I  don't  mean  the  length  of  his  ears, — 
Which  is,  that  whatever  he  touches 

In  a  figurative  sense  disappears 
And  assumes  a  new  form  in  an  instant ; 

Not  just  in  the  old  Midas  way, 
For  these  things  turn  earthy  and  dreamlight 

Grows  the  commonest  light  of  day. 


UNNAMED.  5  j 

He  touches  the  angels,  and,  presto  ! 

They're  clayey,  and  weak,  and  frail ; 
Their  glory  is  wan  and  faded  ; 

The  glow  of  their  beauty  is  pale. 
And  heaven  itself,  at  his  mention, 

Is  paved  with  the  poorest  of  gold 
That  was  mined  for  so  much  a  nugget, 

And  was  probably  bought  and  sold. 

The  man  that  sits  next  to  the  doctor 

For  a  poet  of  fancy  was  made ; 
But  Necessity,  hard-hearted  spinster, 

Her  hand  on  his  shoulder  has  laid, 
And   said,   "Leave   your   dreams   and    your 
visions, 

The  haunting  sweet  voices  that  call, 
Go,  teach  to  the  young  generation 

That  this  planet  is  round  like  a  ball." 
He  has  bartered  the  visions  of  glory 

To  the,  which,  as  his  right,  he  was  born, 
For  the  blackboard,  the  crayon,  the  ferule ; 

And  he  dies  of  a  bitter  self-scorn. 


52  UNNAMED. 

Poor  poet !  Like  Esau  his  father 
He  has  given  his  birthright  for  gain, 

And  finds  no  place  for  repentance 

Though  he  seek  for  it,  yearning,  in  pain. 

That  woman,  I  wish  I  could  paint  her  ! 

So  placid,  self-poised,  and  strong, 
Who  knows  only  one  thing  she  shrinks  from, 

A  word  or  a  thought  that  is  wrong. 
She  is  like  to  a  fountain  in  summer 

Whose  margin  with  dew  is  impearled, 
Clear,  pure,  and  deep,  and  whose  being 

Is  spent  for  the  good  of  the  world. 

Said  Herman,  "Don't  grow  strong-minded, 

Be  as  brilliant  and  wise  as  you  can, 
But  remember  the  work  of  a  woman 

Is  never  the  work  of  a  man." 
I  wonder  if  I  am  strong-minded. 

My  head  feels  sufficiently  weak 
To  make  me  a  womanly  woman, 

I'll  not  wait  for  another  to  speak. 


UNNAMED.  53 

But  across  the  rows  of  faces 

What  face  at  me  looks  pale  ? 
My  treacherous  cheeks  are  burning 

As  I  hastily  draw  my  vail. 
And  I  hurry  away  from  the  speaking 

Into  the  open  street, 
And  I  hurry,  hurry  homeward 

Lest  a  well-known  face  I  meet. 
That  well-known  face,  I  could  paint  it 

As  it  looked  'neath  my  girlhood's  skies, 
Tender,  and  proud,  and  pathetic, 

With  its  haunting  beautiful  eyes. 


Herman  sent  me  these  flowers, 

Fairer  ones  never  grew, 
They  were  fresh  as  the  breath  of  the  morning 

New-baptized  with  dew. 
Now  they  are  wan  and  faded, 

And  my  eyes  are  dim  with  tears ; 
For  these  flowers  seem  like  emblems 

Of  all  our  hopes  and  fears. 


54 


UNNAMED. 

And  most  of  all  like  symbols 

Of  the  tender  dream  of  love, 
So  sweet  to  the  soul  of  the  dreamer 

Yet  frail  as  a  flower  to  prove. 

Dead,  all  dead. 

This  lily  was  white  as  the  drifting  snow, 
This  rose  once  flushed  with  a  passionate  glow 
When  it  blossomed  in  fragrant  summer  air, 
But  it  faded  and  died  of  a  slow  despair. 
This  mignonette  had  the  soul  of  a  saint, 
Around  it  still  lingers  a  fragrance  faint, 
Long  as  it  lived  it  blessed  the  earth, 
But  a  spirit  has  whispered  its  spirit  forth. 
This  jessamine  see  !  In  the  passionate  south 
The  Spirit  of  Love  kissed  it  mouth  to  mouth. 
Remembering  ever  that  rapturous  kiss, 
The  breath  of  its  life  was  a  dream  of  bliss ; 
And  the  soul  of  its  soul  was  lavishly  spent 
In  passionate  love's  abandonment. 
Nor  beauty,  nor  faith,  nor  purity, 
Nor  the  might  of  love's  divinity, 


UNNAMED. 


55 


Could  save  them  from  the  destroyer's  tread. 
The  tale  of  their  life  is  a  tale  that  is  said^ 

Dead,  all  dead. 


Four  blank  walls  that  stare  at  me 
Bound  my  narrow  house  of  life. 
There  no  sweet  wild  flowers  come, 
Chirp  of  bird,  or  wild  bee's  hum, 
Dream  of  sweetheart  or  of  wife, 
Love's  caress,  or  friendship's  tone  ; 
Fate  has  built  my  house  alone. 

When  the  moon  beams  down  the  night 

To  enfold  me  in  her  light, 

When  the  stars  shine,  and  winds  blow, 

More  and  more  this  truth  I  know, — 

Whatsoever  I  may  be, 

Wheresoever  I  may  go, 

All  the  years  that  come  to  me 

As  they  found,  will  leave  me  so, 

By  these  four  blank  walls  shut  in, 

Growing  sad  as  days  go  on, 

And  forever  left  alone, 


5  6  UNNAMED. 

By  the  friends  who  once  were  mine 
In  the  far-off  days,  lang  syne, 
Half-remembered,  half-forgot ; 
And  my  books,  my  only  joys, 
Speak  to  me,  yet  love  me  not. 
And  the  world  sings  to  its  own 
While  its  bonny  days  go  on. 
Only  I  am  all  alone. 

And  these  blank  walls  stare  at  me 
Till  I  sicken,  heart  and  brain. 
And  they  throb  before  my  eyes 
Like  an  ever-present  pain. 
And  they  never  widen  grand 
As  I  dreamed  in  days  by  gone, 
Down  long  vistas  stretching  far 
All  alight  with  glory's  star. 
Evermore  I  am  alone. 


Out  of  the  past  a  sweet  strong  wind 
Is  blowing,  and  blowing  on, 


UNNAMED. 


57 


And  my  heart  is  wildly  yearning 

For  the  joys  of  a  day  that  is  gone. 
It  blows  from  a  land  of  fragrance, 

It  has  kissed  the  roses  abloom, 
But  it  dashes  my  cheeks  with  a  rain  of  tears, 

And  wraps  my  spirit  in  gloom. 
For  the  fragrant  land  is  haunted, 

Haunted  its  blooming  bowers, 
Haunted  the  strong,  and  sweet,  sweet  wind, 

Haunted  the  swaying  flowers. 


Faint  to  the  ear  of  my  spirit, 

Fainter  than  long  ago, 
Faint,  and  far,  but  divinely  sweet, 

The  mystical  voices  flow. 
Oh  but  to  catch  for  a  moment  ! — 

Oh  but  to  sing  them  again  ! — 
The  songs  of  the  far,  sweet  voices 

That  are  deeper  than  love  or  pain. 
How  fair  a  thing  is  the  summer  ! 

How  fair  a  thing  is  the  world  ! 


58  UNNAMED. 

Lit  by  a  thousand  glimmering  stars, 
By  silvery  dews  impearled. 


Last  night  when  the  winds  were  sighing 

Love  .tales  in  the  linden  tree, 
I  heard  a  voice  from  the  garden 

And  my  heart  stood  still  in  me. 
Why  did  he  call  me  Alice  ? 

What  right  had  he  to  my  name  ? 
He  came  and  called  me  Alice. 

And  my  cheeks  burnt  hot  with  flame. 
And  I  fear,  I  fear  he  noticed 

The  sudden  burning  blush  ; 
And  I  fear  he  thought  'twas  returning  love 

That  made  my  pale  face  flush. 
But  I  did  not  call  him  Louis, 

As  I  had  done  before. 
For  once  I  called  him  Louis, 

My  Louis,  Louis  D'Or. 
And  shall  I  write  to  Herman 

That  Louis  has  called  on  me  ? 


UNNAMED. 


59 


Herman  would  think  from  my  telling 

That  a  dozen  things  might  be. 
He  would  think  I  cared  for  Louis, 

And  cared  to  have  him  call. 
While  the  fact  is  known  to  my  heart  and  me 

That  we  do  not  care  at  all. 
Never  again,  O  Louis, 

Never,  never  again, 
Can  the  touch  of  your  hand  awake  in  me 

The  echoing  chords  of  pain. 
It  is  dead  at  last  now,  Louis, 

And  I  knew  not  it  was  dead 
Till  you  came  and  called  me  Alice 

As  you  did  in  days  that  are  fled. 
But  I  did  not  call  him  Louis, 

As  I  had  done  before, 
For  once  I  called  him  Louis, 

My  Louis,  Louis  D'Or. 


It  is  enough  for  me  to  do  my  work, 
And  trust  God  for  the  rest. 


6o  UNNAMED. 

If  I  indeed  have  drunk  the  poet's  wine, 

My  work  for  me  is  best. 
O  woman  heart  !   O  longing  woman  heart  ! 

How  weak  a  thing  you  prove, 
Hungering,  thirsting,  growing  sick  and  faint, 

Sick  for  a  little  love. 
Are  there  not  infinite  stores,  divinely  sweet, 

Of  heavenly  love  for  thee? 
And  hast  thou  not   thy  work,   thy  work  on 
earth, 

Thy  work,  enough  for  thee  ? 
They  were  not  meant  to  bless  thee,  O  sad 
heart, 

The  clasp  of  clinging  hands, 
The  thousand  sacred  mysteries  of  sweet  love, 

The  lore  love  understands. 
They  were   not    meant    for   thee.      Be    thou 
content ; 

Content  with  what  is  left, — 
The  pure,  good  work,  which,  if  thou  bravely 
do, 

Thou  shalt  not  be  bereft. 


UNNAMED.  6 1 

Wherever  I  go,  I  see  a  face 

That  I  knew  so  well  lang  syne. 
Wherever  I  go,  those  beautiful  eyes 

Follow  and  seek  for  mine. 
Did  you  really  love  me,  Louis, 

So  long  and  long  ago  ? 
Wide  is  the  gulf  between  our  souls, 

Why  do  you  seek  me  so  ? 


Why  has  not  Herman  written 

While  all  these  days  went  on  ? 
Why  is  my  book  unfinished 

That  long  since  should  be  done  ? 
I  wonder  at  Herman's  silence, 

Till  my  heart  is  sick  with  dread. 
In  his  letter  that  came  so  long  ago 

He  was  coming  here  he  said. 
But  if  he  came  to  the  city, 

Would  Herman  not  come  to  me? 
And  if  he  were  not  in  the  city, 

Would  Herman  not  write  to  me  ? 


UNNAMED. 

It  is  thousands  of  years  ago  since  I  sang 

In  my  careless  joy  to  love's  sweet  tune. 
My  heart  was  as  light  as  a  dancing  leaf, 

And  the  air  about  me  was  sweet  with  June. 
It  was  ages  ago  when  my  heart  was  young, 

Sweet  was  the  meaning  life  held  for  me. 
The  stream  of  my  blood  had  a  jubilant  flow, 

And  I  dreamed  of  delights  that  were  yet  to 

be. 
Every  flower  of  the  world  was  yet  in  the  bud, 

Every  bud  of  the  world  would  soon  be  a 

rose. 
The  dew  was  not  dried  on  the  beautiful  wold 

Ere   the   hours  of  dawning   drew  on    to  a 

close. 
I  sat  in  the  sunshine.     I  dreamily  sang. 

The  hours  slipped  by  with  a  musical  chime, 
Ages,  and  ages,  and  ages  ago 

In  the  flowery  fields  of  the  olden  time. 

There  was  a  time,  O  Louis, 
I  had  given  my  life  to  you. 


UNNAMED.  ( 

But  the  time  is  come,  O  Louis, 

When  that  I  will  not  do. 
And  can  you  not  see  as  I  see  it 

That  the  past  is  over  and  gone  ? 
That  it  cannot  awake  into  being 

While  the  days  of  our  lives  go  on  ? 
Believe  that  I  care  no  longer. 

Believe  that  I  love  you  not. 
Do  you  think  those  eyes  too  potent 

For  their  spell  to  be  forgot  ? 

It  is  true. 

Hearts  can  change  as  seasons  do. 
Love,  like  sweetest  flowers  that  bloom, 
Finds  at  last  a  certain  tomb. 

For  I  know, 

Long-lost  love  of  long  ago, 
All  the  passion  and  the  tears 
Of  those  far  and  faded  years 
Are  as  they  had  never  been ; 
And  there  lies  our  hearts  between 
But  a  shade  of  cold  distrust 
Where  warm  love  lies  low  in  dust. 


64  UNNAMED. 

Woe  is  me  ! 

That  this  bitter  thing  should  be 
That  the  Lethean  river  rolls 
While  we  live  above  our  souls, 
That  oblivion's  waters  steal 
All  the  grief  our  hearts  can  feel, 
And  the  deepest  wounds  must  heal. 

Fare  thee  well. 
Nevermore  awakes  the  spell 
Of  the  sweet  forgotten  past. 
All  is  over,  dead  at  last. 

Fare  thee  well. 

Lightly  the  years  go  by  me. 

I  cannot  die  of  regret. 
The  past  slips  out  of  my  keeping. 

I  cannot  choose  but  forget. 
The  withered  leaves  lie  not  more  dead 
Beneath  the  icy  north-wind's  tread 
Than  lies  the  heart  you  once  could  move, 
Unanswering,  to  your  words  of  love. 
The  spell  is  broken,  and  I  am  free. 
Henceforth  your  love  is  naught  to  me. 


UNNAMED. 

I  fain  would  do  my  duty 

Forgetting  selfish  ease, 
But  should  I  give  my  life  up 

A  fickle  love  to  please  ? 

Have  I  the  power  of  doing 

All  for  you  that  you  say  ? 
Would  my  love  make  strong  and  noble 

The  life  so  weak  to-day  ? 

For  Louis  says,  but  for  losing 

My  love  so  long  ago, 
His  life  had  been  brave  and  helpful, 

Nor  missed  its  purpose  so. 

He  says  though  the  years  are  flying 
Time  holds  one  chance  for  him. 

Can  I,  whom  he  loves  so  dearly, 
His  life's  sole  brightness  dim? 

I  am  tired  of  doubt  and  query, 
Tired  spirit  and  brain. 


66  UNNAMED. 

I  cannot  believe  I  should  sell  my  soul 
Though  it  be  for  another's  gain. 


Why  has  not  Herman  written  ? 

Over  and  over  again, 
I  ask  myself  that  question 

With  a  dull  and  heavy  pain. 
There  are  rumors  of  plague  in  the  city 

And  the  people  are  fleeing  away, 
Louis  is  going  to-morrow, 

But  I  think  that  I  shall  stay. 
I  wonder  at  Herman's  silence 

Till  my  heart  is  sick  with  dread. 
For  those  who  dwell  in  silence, 

Are  they  not  the  hosts  of  the  dead  ? 
It  seems  but  a  wretched  pittance 

To  offer,  this  life  of  mine, 
For  I  give  what  I  would  be  rid  of — 

A  gift  they  cannot  decline. 

Lo  !    Poor  and  sick  of  the  city, 
I  offer  to  you  to-day 


UNNAMED.  67 

A  life  of  worth  to  no  one, 

That  I  fain  would  give  away. 
I  have  lived  to  myself  these  long  years, 

Now  I  will  live  to  you. 
For  the  short  few  weeks  remaining 

Some  good,  at  last,  I  may  do. 
Louis  is  going  to-morrow. 

He  would  tease  me  with  useless  prayers 
To  flee  from  the  coming  terrors. 

I  must  let  him  go  unawares. 
And  if  I  die  in  the  city, 

O  Herman,  Herman,  my  friend, — 
If  I  die  in  the  plague-cursed  city, 

Will  you  ever  hear  of  the  end  ? 

Louis  has  fled  from  the  fever, 

And  left  a  letter  for  me 
Pleading  for  sake  of  his  future 

I,  too,  from  the  plague  would  flee. 
You  care  so  much  for  your  future, 

Have  you  never  a  thought  of  mine? 
I  think,  of  old,  I  was  drunken 

With  love's  bewildering  wine. 


68  UNNAMED. 

Blue  are  the  heavens  above  me, 

The  whispering  winds  are  bland. — 
Lie  there  on  my  table,  0  letter  ! 

For  I  cannot  understand. 
"  Why  have  you  so  deceived  me 

About  your  future  life  ? 
And  why  not  told  me  sooner 

You  were  to  be  his  wife  ? 
1  cannot  believe  you  did  it 

My  faithfulness  to  mock; 
You  thought  1  loved  so  dearly 

I  could  not  bear  the  shock. 
But  there,  my  child,  you  wronged  me. 

If  you  are  happier  so, 
I  con  bear  to  see  you  another's  wife, 

Though  't  is  terribly  bitter  to; 
But  I  cannot  bear  the  knowledge 

That  you  have  doubted  me. 
Well !    Well  I  Let  it  pass  !    There  's  no  reason 

That  I  should  indignant  be. 
You  never  wanted  my  love,  child, 

I  knew  it  as  well  as  you. 


UNNAMED.  69 

You  will  never  know  what  it  cost  me, 

But  1  loved  you,  loved  you  true 
When  I  went  last  week  to  the  city, 

A  man  whom  1  knew  of  old, 
The  man  you  are  soon  to  marry, 

Your  new  betrothal  told. 
I  did  not  come  to  see  you, 

I  could  not  bear  the  pain, 
With  the  deep,  deep  hurt  so  fresh  in  my  heart, 

Of  seeing  your  jace  again. 
If  you  had  not  deceived  me, 

It  were  easier  to  bear  ; 
But  perhaps  you  did  it  to  save  me  a  pang, 

Knowing  how  1  mast  care. 
I  hope  you  may  be  happy. 

It  is  late  for  me  to  speak. — 
But  how  can  I  trust  your  future 

To  one  so  cruel  and  weak  ? 
Is  it  foolish,  weak,  unmanly  ? 

I  am  blotting  my  page  with  tears. 
I  have  loved  you,  darling,  with  all  my  heart 

These  many  weary  years. 


UNNAMED. 

0  Alice  !  my  poet  woman, 
Alice  my  woman  saint  I 

Bow  can  1  bear  to  lose  you  now 
Nor  die  as  my  hopes  grow  faint  ? 

1  shall  not  see  you  again,  child, 

I  have  grown  so  shamefully  weak 
I  fear  I  cannot  bear  yet 

To  hear  your  sweet  lips  speak. 
Some  time,  perhaps,  in  the  future, 

If  fate  is  kind  to  me, 
I  shall  grow  used  to  my  burden 

And  this  icill  cease  to  be. 
Perhaps  you  had  pitied  me,  Alice, 

Had  you  known  hoio  all  must  end. 
Always  through  all  time,  darling, 

Believe  me,  your  truest  friend." 

I  cannot  understand  it  ! 

O  Herman,  mio  ben! 
Have  you  loved  me  on  in  silence 

Through  all  these  summers  then  ? 
How  could  you  so  much  wrong  me 

That  specious  lie  to  believe  ? 


UNNAMED. 

How  could  you  so  much  wrong  me 
To  doubt  I  would  deceive  ? 


If  Herman  truly  loves  me 

Life  grows  more  sweet  to  me, 
Yet  I  may  die  in  the  city 

Before  his  face  I  see. 
And  I  fain  would  see  him  once  more 

Before  my  life  is  past 
To  tell  him  I  was  faithful, 

I  loved  him  at  the  last. 
Yet  even  for  love  of  Herman, 

Though  he  loved  me  in  tender  truth, 
Could  I  forego  the  visions 

That  glorified  my  youth  ? 
Forget  the  dreams,  and  longings, 

The  glory,  and  the  bliss  ? 
Forego  them  all  for  the  rapture 

Of  love's  betrothal  kiss? 
Oh  !  not  for  me  was  love  made, 

It  never  was  made  for  me. 


UNNAMED. 

I  have  grown  used  to  the  knowledge 

That  this  can  never  be. 
I  have  given  my  strength  of  spirit, 

My  strength  of  body  and  brain, 
All  to  my  Art's  sweet  service  ; 

What  gifts  for  Love  remain  ? 
For  Art  will  have  all  or  nothing, 

All  that  is  mine  or  me, 
And  love  demands  that  his  portion 

Soul,  body,  and  spirit  be. 
Only  one  life  is  given, 

Only  one  life  to  live. 
Could  I  sunder  spirit  from  spirit 

And  to  each  a  portion  give? 


How  poor  and  helpless  is  our  human  love 
How  weak  our  human  strength. 

I  cannot  even  reach  my  friend  and  say, 
"I  love,  thee,  dear,  at  length." 

I  cannot  even  say,  "Though  great  my  fault, 
Of  this  thing  I  am  free, 


UNNAMED.  73 

In  all  the  days  when  I  was  most  beguiled 

I  never  doubted  thee." 

But,   wrapped  within    the  dreadful    arms  of 
Death, 

Into  the  shadows  dim 
I  must  go  down,  and  never  see  his  face, 

And  never  speak  to  him. 
For  I  will  give  my  life  though  it  be  poor, 

My  strength  though  it  be  weak. 
Perchance  to  die  for  men  were  poetry 

More  sweet  than  I  can  speak. 
I  would  that  I  had  done  some  good  on  earth 

Before  the  bitter  end. 

I   would   my  lips   had    drunk   one  soul-deep 
draught 

Of  love's  delight,  my  friend. 
Alas  !  my  life  has  failed  of  all  its  ends, 

Well  may  my  soul  make  moan. 
Into  oblivion's  unending  night 

I  must  go  down  alone. 
The  one  dream  of  my  life  was  but  a  dream, 

A  flower  without  its  fruit. 


74 


UNNAMED. 

The  songs  that  sang  so  sweetly  in  my  soul 

Upon  my  lips  were  mute. 
The  one,  true  friend  who  gave  me  all  he  had, 

What  have  I  given  him  ? 
A  heart  stab,  and  a  blight  that  made  the  light 

Of  his  best  days  grow  dim. 
My  life  has  missed  its  purpose.     Evermore 

A  voice  is  at  my  side, — 
A  voice  that  croaks  to  me  of  wasted  life, 

And  will  not  be  denied. 
Sick  unto  death  am  I,  yet  would  not  die ; 

Sick  of  my  life,  yet  fain  more  days  would 

live ; 
If  so,  perchance,  I  might  e'en  yet,  tho'  late, 

The  wasted  past  retrieve. 

The  pestilence  walketh  in  darkness, 

Destruction  at  noon  is  abroad. 
We  bow  down  our  heads  in  our  weakness, 

And  call  on  the  name  of  our  God. 
Oh  God  in  humanity  clothed, 

Have  mercy  on  man  Thou  hast  made  ; 


UNNAMED.  75 

Grant,  ere  there  is  none  to  beseech  Thee, 
The  terrible  plague  may  be  stayed. 

Oh  sweet !  oh  sweet !  the  idle  joys  of  living, — 

The  summer  sky's  intense,  delicious  blue, 

The  winds  a-whisper,  and  the  flowers  a-blos- 

som, 
The  fresh  earth  dashed  with  white  baptismal 

dew. 

The  far-off  joys  of  life  for  aye  renounced, 
Warm  life,  filled  up  with  color,  light  and 

bloom. 

I  shiver  from  the  cold  unknown  hereafter, 
The   mist    and    darkness,    the    engrossing 

gloom. 

Dead  silence  broods  above  the  fated  city, 
An   atmosphere  that   chills  the  soul  with 

dread, 

A    horror    curdling    through    the    very    life- 
blood. — 

It  seems  some  haunted  city  of  the  dead. 

Changed  is  the  air,  the  very  sky  is  changed. 

Dead  horror,  still,  impalpable,  intense. 


7  6  UNNAMED. 

How  vain  seem  now  our  loves  and  hates,  how 
trifling, 

The  idle  things  of  life,  the  joys  of  sense. 
O  mystic  land  before  me  stretching  endless, 

'Twixt  me  and  thee  a  veil  of  mist  outrolls. 
With  longing  eyes  I  search  the  gloom  demand 
ing 

Thy  secret,  O  thou  unknown  land  of  souls. 
Trembling  I  stand  before  the  mystic  portals. 

Beyond  is  darkness,  cold,  and  hushed,  and 

dread, 

Gray,    flitting    ghosts,   vast    mist-engendered 
phantoms, 

The  shadowy  armies  of  the  shadowy  dead. 
O  Infinite  Supreme,  Source  of  our  being, 

Giver  of  life,  Endless  of  life,  Eterne, 
Grant  now  to  me  one  holy  revelation 

For  which  in  darkness  and  despair  I  yearn. 
Reveal  Thyself  to  me,  O  God  the  Father, 

The  Father  of  our  spirits,  God  alone. 
Reveal  Thyself  to  me,  O  God  the  Spirit. 

Reveal  Thyself  to  me,  O  God  the  Son. 


UNNAMED.  77 

Brought    face    to   face    thus  with   the  dread 

Hereafter, 
Life's  fictions  torn  away,  the  soul  stands 

bare  ; 
But  for  our  faith  in  thee  we  die,  we  perish 

Crushed  by  the  weight  of  a  divine  despair. 
God  give  us  grace  to  do  our  simple  duty ; 
Be  brave,  be  strong,  content  to  work  and 

wait, 

Ready  to  do  His  will  until  He  sendeth 
His  angel  to  throw  wide  the  unseen  gate. 

Yesterday  in  the  fever  ward 

The  doctor  told  a  tale 
Of  a  man  who  bravely  entered  the  homes 

That  made  the  strongest  quail. 
He  seemed  to  feel  no  burden, 

Fatigue  he  did  not  know. 
Where  danger  was  the  greatest, 

He  was  always  first  to  go. 
But  lately  he  had  missed  him, 

And  dared  not  hope  that  he 


7g  UNNAMED. 

Had  failed  to  fall  a  victim 

To  his  humanity. 
He  was  so  worn  in  the  service 

His  frame  could  not  resist 
The  fever  as  it  should  do, 

He  would  be  greatly  missed. 
"What  is  his  name"  I  queried, 

Grown  curious  to  hear. 
"His  name,"  the  doctor  answered 

"Was  Herman  Delaterre." 


And  art  thou  dead  ? 

Entered  through  starry  gates  into  thy  heaven? 
While  evermore  my  spirit  unforgiven 
Dwells  in  the  awful  Valley  of  the  Shade, 

Yet  cannot  die. 
Perchance,  if  thou  art  dead, 
Thy  soul  can  hear  me  when  to  thee  I  cry, 
"True  to  thy  love  forevermore  am  I." 
I  love  thee,  O  my  love,  and  art  thou  dead  ? 


UNNAMED. 


79 


Not  dead  perchance 

But  fighting  in  these  noisome  haunts  of  pain 
The  fiend  of  fever  that  with  burning  chain 
Has  bound  thee.     Never  loving  glance 
Benignant  meets  thy  own  ; 
No  loving  hands  assuage  the  fever  pain. 
My   friend  !     My    Herman  !     Dying,    dead, 

perchance, 
Dying — my  love — alone. 

If  thou  art  gone,  and  life  for  me  is  done, 
And  I  should  meet  thee  far  beyond  the  sun 
Where  flit  gray  ghosts  of  warm  humanity, 
Phantoms  of   things  that   were,   and   things 

to  be, 
Should  I  be  aught  to  thee  ?  or  thou  to  me  ? 

It  cannot  be  when  life  for  me  is  o'er 
That  I  shall  see  my  love  no  more,  no  more, 
Somewhere,  somewhere,  upon  a  golden  shore, 
I  yet  shall  feel  his  arms  about  me  fold. 
God  plans  a  meeting  for  us  far  away, 
In  other  climes,  upon  another  day, 


go  UNNAMED. 

When  I,  too,  pass  beyond  the  shadows  gray 

And  see  my  sad  life  as  tale  that's  told. 
There  is  no  grief — One  wipes  away  all  tears. 
There  is  no  death   through  endless  blessed 

years ; 
There  is  no  night,  and  there  shall  come  no 

fears. 

There  lives  immortal  love,  and  grows 
not  old. 

Last  evening  I  went  sorrowing 

Soul  wrapped  in  one  idea, 
To  pray  for  the  soul  of  Herman  my  friend, 

In  the  church  of  St.  Sofia. 
The  church  was  dark  and  lonely, 

But,  in  a  column's  shade, 
A  single  lonely  worshiper 

Like  myself,  in  silence  prayed. 
I  gazed  o'er  the  stately  altar 

At  a  figure  of  the  Christ, 
The  Lamb  of  the  Atonement 

For  sinners  sacrificed. 


UNNAMED.  8 1 

I  gazed  at  the  stately  altar, 

But  soul  and  lip  were  dumb. 
I  had  come  to  pray  for  Herman, 

But  the  prayer  thought  did  not  come. 
I  could  not  shape  a  prayer. 

I  knew  that  all  was  vain. 
Silent  I  sat,  unmoving, 

Mute  in  a  trance  of  pain. 
I  saw  through  the  realms  of  phantom 

That  dreamlike  stretched  away, 
My  lonely  Life  Henceforward 

Stand  desolate  and  gray. 
With  even  Death  like  a  lover 

Proven  false  in  the  hour  of  need 
My  dreary  Life  Henceforward 

Stand  desolate  indeed, — 
A  wounded  thing,  creep  slowly 

Through  lengths  of  weary  years 
With  nothing  brighter  than  heart  ache, 

Nothing  sweeter  than  tears. 
Forevermore  unloving, 

Forever  unbeloved, 


82  UNNAMED. 

Down  wearisome  gray  vistas 

My  Life  Henceforward  moved. — 
Suddenly  just  beside  me 

I  heard  a  gentle  stir, 
And  glancing  up  I  saw  there 

The  lonely  worshiper. 
His  face  was  toward  the  window, — 

How  can  I  tell  the  rest  ? 
For  before  I  thought  'twas  Herman 

I  was  sobbing  on  his  breast. 
A  peace  came  out  of  heaven 

And  wrapped  the  world  from  sin, 
Opened  the  gates  of  heaven, 

And  our  spirits  entered  in. 

When  the  dusk  was  softly  falling, 

And  down  the  lonely  street 
The  light  winds  kissed  the  dead  leaves, 

And  the  dead  leaves  kissed  my  feet ; 
Out  of  the  dark  cathedral, 

Into  the  silent  night, 
We  went  away  together 

As  the  moon  swam  into  sight. 


UNNAMED.  83 

Far  down  the  fading  twilight 

Glimmered  a  trembling  star, 
And  I  knew  'twas  the  tender  star  of  love 

That  shone  for  us  afar. 
Under  the  saintly  moonlight, 

Under  the  smile  of  heaven, 
The  weary  world  after  penance  sore 

Lay  peaceful  and  forgiven. 

When  the  day  awakes  with  a  rosy  flush 
And  skies  grow  bright  above  me, 

When  the  sweet  winds  sigh  from  the  blossom 
ing  south 
Then  most,  my  love,  I  love  thee. 

When  the  sun  sinks  away  to  his  palace  of  rest 

And  skies  grow  dim  above  me, 
When  the  sweet  winds  sleep  in  the  arms  of 
the  south 

Then  most,  my  love,  I  love  thee. 


84  UNNAMED. 

Once  to  my  eyes  my  Love  and  Art  seemed 

hostile. 
I   stood    between    and   doubted    which    to 

choose 

Lest,  though  I  found  a  joy  beyond  my  hop 
ing, 
The  sweeter   blessing    I    might   chance   to 

lose. 

But   something    now   has   taught    me   clearer 

vision. 
I  walked  in  darkness  long,  but  found  the 

light. 

No  longer  foes,  but  reconciled  in  spirit, 
The    twain   seem   now   as   one    before    my 
sight. 

For  Love  and  Art  are  but  the  humble  service 
I  offer  unto  Him  who  gave  them  both  ; 

Who    crowned    my    spirit    with    a    threefold 

blessing, 
And  laid  upon  my  soul  a  marriage  oath. 


LONGER   POEMS. 


WATER  LILIES. 

HEN  Spring  comes  slow, 
Reluctantly  from  the  voluptuous  south, 
The  kiss  of  southern  lovers  on  her  mouth, 
The  smell  of  southern  flowers  in  her  hair; 
And  cometh  loath  because  her  heart  is  there, 
And  turneth  oft  and  weepeth  tears  of  pain 

And  to  be  gone  is  fain. 
When  all  the  days  grow  dim 
And  filled  with  gloom, 
Then  nature  breaks  into  her  advent  hymn, 
Then  water  lilies  bloom. 


The  days  wane  on. 
The  Spring  grows  kind  again. 
Ceaseth  the  frequent  rain, 
Ceaseth  the  chill  and  gloom, 
Over  the  land  stealeth  a  faint  perfume. 

The  water  lilies  bloom. 


88  WATER  LILIES. 

The  days  wane  on. 
Over  the  northern  hills  th'  inconstant  Spring  has 

gone. 
Up  from  the  sweet  south  comes  a  fairer  guest, 

The  loved,  the  best, 

The  Summer  with  rich  gifts  of  largesse  come 
From  her  far  southern  home. 

She  comes,  and  lo  ! 
Before  her  flowers  blow. 
The  vales  are  fragrant  with  all  rare  perfume. 
The  water  lilies  bloom. 

They  bloom,  and  lo  ! 

From  chaliced  cups  of  snow 
Their  incense  fling  upon  the  grateful  air. 

The  white  leaves  open,  slow 

And  timidly,  revealing 
In  chaliced  cups  of  virgin  snow 

The  golden,  tremulous,  quivering  heart; 

Whence  rarest  odors  stealing 
When  the  white  petals  dream  apart, 

Tenderly,  timidly,  stealing  forth, 


WATER  LILIES.  89 

Like  prayers  of  saints  are  heavenward  borne 
Yet  sweeten  earth. 

They  lie  at  rest 

On  the  dark  water's  breast 
Like  a  white  star  upon  the  veil  of  night. 

Soft  color  tints  their  leaves 

With  faint  auroral  light, 
The  glow  of  sunset  in  the  flushing  west. 

What  spot  on  earth 
Is  found  of  so  much  worth 

To  bear  this  loveliness  ? 

Where  rivers  to  the  sea 
Flow  onward  gladsomely 
There  surely  is  their  fitting  place  of  birth. 

Upon  some  flashing  river 

That  floweth  on  forever 
'Twixt  banks  of  blossoms  to  the  solemn  sea, — 

Where  giant  forests  spread 

Wide-reaching  arms  o'erhead 
And  make  for  it  a  path  of  fragrant  gloom, 


9o 


WATER  LILIES. 

There  is  the  place  on  earth 
Fittest  to  give  them  birth, 
There  should  the  lilies  bloom. 


And  bloom  they  there, 
Rejoicing  in  the  beauty  and  the  light 
Spreading  their  petals  white 
Upon  the  limpid  stream, 

Upon  the  happy  water  flowing  onward  in  a  dream 
Of  light,  and  sound,  and  motion,  to  the  solemn- 
sounding  sea? 
The  banks  are  bright  with  blossoms,  but  for  them 

there  still  is  room. 

The  air  is  filled  with  music  and  with  delicate  per 
fume. 
There  do  the  lilies  bloom  ? 

Not  there.     Not  there. 
Not  on  the  flashing  river 
That  floweth  on  forever 

Not  where  the  forests  bending  make  fragrant  dells 
of  gloom. 


WATER  LILIES.  91 

Not  where  the  streams  axe  flowing 
With  light,  and  sound,  and  motion 
To  join  the  throbbing  ocean 
Do  the  water  lilies  bloom. 

Where  shall  we  seek  them  ? 

For  their  home  is  low. 
In  dark,  dull  pools  the  lilies  grow. 

From  murky  depths  of  night 

Stoled  all  in  spotless  white, 

From  murky  depths  of  gloom 
Tinted  with  faint  auroral  light 

The  water  lilies  bloom. 

The  days  wane  on. 

The  first  spring  flowers  have  faded  long  ago. 
Faded  the  hyacinthine  glow. 
Faded  the  purple  of  the  violet. 
The  Spring  has  gone  with  all  her  wealth  of  bloom. 
No  loiterer  lingers  yet 
On  vale  or  hill, 

Yet  still 
The  water  lilies  bloom. 


2  WATER  LILIES. 

The  days  wane  on. 
The  Summer  days  are  long  and  still, 

By  vale  and  hill, 

The  Summer  flowers  begin  to  fade. 
In  all  bright  places  where  are  warmth  and  light 

The  flowers  fade  from  sight. 
Yet  still  in  their  low  homes  of  murky  gloom 
The  water  lilies  bloom. 

So  have  ye  seen, 
When  all  life's  fields  were  green, 

From  lonely  and  neglected  spots 
Grow  sudden  flowers  of  love  and  faith, 

Bloom  wild  forget-me-nots, 
And  heart 's-ease,  and  each  flower  that  hath 

Some  fragrant  mission  to  the  soul. 
So  ye  have  seen,  if  ye  have  seen  the  whole, 
The  flowers  of  love  and  faith 

Live  through    the  spring\s  warm 

days, 

Bask  in  the  summer's  blaze, 
And  sweeten  all  the  dreary  road  to  death. 


WATER  LILIES.  93 

So  have  ye  known 
Light  out  of  darkness,  joy  from  sorrow  grown, 

Life's  waves  of  bitterness 
Yield  snowy  flowers  to  cheer  and  bless. 
From  depths  of  deepest  gloom 
White  lilies  bloom. 

It  seems  the  earth  has  not 

One  barren  spot 
That    Spring   cannot    awaken    and  gladden   into 

bloom, 

It  seems  to  darkest  things 
Summer  her  largesse  brings, 

With  white  hands  overflowing  with  sunlight  and 
with  bloom. 

There  is  no  place  so  sad 

But  Spring  can  make  it  glad, 

No  spot  so  full  of  gloom 
But  when  the  word  is  spoken 
Its  long  night  shall  be  broken, 

Its  spotless  lilies  bloom. 


THE  HOLY  GRAIL. 

IN  the  days  when  wise  King  Arthur 
Ruled  over  his  Table  Round, 

The  gallant  knights  went  on  a  quest 

Seeking  east,  seeking  west, 
For  the  Holy  Grail  that  had  vanished  away 
Many  and  many  a  year  before, — 
That  had  vanished  away,  and  been  seen  no  more, 
Though  holy  men  had  fasted  and  prayed, 
With  tears,  and  sighs,  and  penance  sore, 
For  the  Holy  Grail  to  come  once  more. 

Sometimes  before  the  longing  eyes 

Of  holy  monk,  or  praying  nun, 
A  light  like  that  of  noonday  sun 

Sudden  flashed,  and  sudden  died. 

In  shining  clouds  of  dazzling  white, 

The  Holy  Grail  upon  their  sight 
Flashed  a  moment  and  was  gone. 


THE  HOLY  GRAIL.  95 

And  none  could  tell  the  way  it  went 

So  soon  the  sudden  light  was  spent ; 
And  never  knight, 
Or  anchorite, 

Or  holy  monk,  or  virgin  pale, 
Had  sought  and  found  the  Holy  Grail. 

One  day  King  Arthur's  gallant  knights, 
Clad  all  in  panoply  of  mail, 
Went  riding  forth  upon  their  quest, 

Seeking  east,  seeking  west, 
To  find  the  Holy  Grail. 

They  vowed  to  heaven  a  solemn  vow 
To  right  the  wrongs  of  the  opprest, 
To  keep  their  honor  white  and  pure, 

And  leave  unto  high  heaven  the  rest. 

Then  bound  upon  each  knightly  breast 

The  badge,  where  all  the  world  might  see, 
Of  Honor,  Truth,  and  Courtesy, 

And  fearless  rode  forth  to  their  quest. 
Seeking  east,  seeking  west, 
Seeking  south,  seeking  north, 


96 


THE  HOLY  GRAIL. 


All  bound  upon  the  selfsame  quest 
The  gallant  knights  rode  forth. 

And  one  found  in  a  mossy  glade 

A  bower  of  bloom,  a  smiling  maid, 

A  fount  that  in  the  sunlight  played, 

A  cool  stream  rippling  through  the  shade. 

Sore  with  the  heat  of  toil  opprest 

He  turned  aside  to  rest. 
Beside  the  murmuring  stream  he  stayed, 

Forgot  his  holy  quest. 

And  a  mystic  song  through  the  forest  rang, 
And  a  mystic  voice  low  sang, — 

Weak  hope,  weak  faith  must  fail,  must  fail. 

He  who  seeks  the  Holy  Grail 

Will  seek  in  vain  if  he  turns  to  rest. 

Endeth  here  the  warrior's  quest, 

And  one  tale  is  done. 

And  one  rode  over  hill  and  vale 
And  came  to  a  palace  great  and  strong, 
Around  him  the  vassals  began  to  throng 


THE  HOLY  GRAIL. 

Saying,  "Thou  who  wearest  King  Arthur's  mail 
Right  for  us  now  the  wrong  we  bear, 
Free  from  the  foe  these  stately  towers, 

And  thpu  shalt  be  lord  of  us  and  ours." 

The  good  knight  turned  from  his  holy  quest 
To  right  the  wrongs  of  the  opprest. 

They  made  him  lord,  and  bowed  the  knee, 

He  stayed  to  reign  where  he  went  to  free. 

In  the  fruitful  lands  of  the  blooming  west 
He  laid  aside  his  burnished  mail, 
He  sought  no  more  for  the  Holy  Grail, 
Forgot  his  holy  quest. 

And  a  mystic  song  through  the  palace  rang, 

And  a  mystic  voice  low  sang, — 

The  weak  of  purpose  must  Jail,  must  fail, 
He  cannot  find  the  Holy  Grail, 
Though  long  he  seek,  he  will  seek  in  vain, 
For  the  hist  of  power  and  love  of  gain 
Witt  prove  too  strong  for  such  an  one. 
And  another  tale  is  done. 

And  one  rode  over  field  and  moor 

Till  a  wide  plain  opened  before  his  sight, 


97 


98  THE  HOLY  GRAIL. 

Whereon  in  clouds  of  dazzling  light, 
The  Holy  Grail  shone  white  and  pure. 

But  straight  before,  and  on  either  hand, 
Came  the  spirits  of  evil,  band  on  band  ; 
Back  to  the  sunshine  flashed  in  light 
Their  burnished  helms  and  weapons  bright, 

Behind  them,  pure  and  grand, 
The  Holy  Grail  shone  white. 
He  had  not  shuddered  at  mortal  foes, 
He  had  not  trembled  at  giant's  might, 
But  he  turned  away  from  the  spirit  fight. 

And  straight  before  him  the  vision  rose, 

And  the  Holy  Grail  into  heaven  was  caught. 
Then  his  bosom  was  filled  with  a  wild  despair, 

The  wild  despair  of  a  soul  unblest. 
He  threw  aside  his  burnished  mail, 

He  sought  no  more  for  the  Holy  Grail, 

Forgot  his  sacred  quest. 
And  a  mystic  song  o'er  the  wide  plain  rang, 
And  a  mystic  voice  low  sang, — 

1 'he  faint  of  heart  must  fail,  must  fail, 

He  cannot  find  the  Holy  Grail. 


THE  HOLY  GRAIL.  99 

Only  o'erfoemen  overthroicn, 
Only  through  dangers  and  struggles  past, 
Can  the  Holy  Grail  be  found  at  last. 
And  another  tale  is  done. 

And  one,  as  he  rode  from  land  to  land, 
Caught  the  treacherous  gleam  of  shining  sand, 
Caught  the  treacherous  gleam,  and  thither  rode, 
While  fair  on  the  soft  wind  his  white  plume  flowed, 
And  fair  in  the  sunlight  his  armor  glowed. 

But  lo  !    On  that  sand  he  sank,  he  sank, 
Never  he  reached  the  farther  bank, 

Down  and  down  till  the  world  'gan  swim, 

Down  and  down  till  the  light  grew  dim, 

Down  and  down  till  over  his  head 
The  shining  terrible  quicksand  spread, 
And  the  sunlight  faded  and  died  for  him. 

Down,  far  down  from  warmth  and  bloom, 

Down,  far  down  into  changeless  gloom, 
The  horrible  darkness  and  damp  of  the  tomb. 

Down,  far  down  from  sun  and  air, 
And  the  angels  in  heaven  know  not  where. 


100  THE  HOLY  GRAIL. 

Oh  !   pray  that  the  demons  far  below 
That  fatal  whither  may  never  know. 

Seeking  east,  seeking  west, 

Seeking  south,  seeking  north, 
All  bound  upon  the  selfsame  quest 
The  gallant  knights  rode  forth. 

But  only  Sir  Galahad  the  pure, 

Only  Sir  Galahad  the  true, 
Turned  not  aside  from  his  holy  quest. 

Seeking  east,  seeking  west, 

He  stayed  not  for  pleasure,  he  shrank  not  from  pain, 
He  sought  over  forest,  and  meadow,  and  plain 
For  the  glint  of  the  Holy  Grail. 
But  wherever  a  deed  of  good  could  be  done, 
Or  help  could  be  given  to  an  outcast  one, 
Or  succor  to  him  who  was  sore  opprest, 

Then  ne'er  did  his  kindly  spirit  fail, 
Then  was  his  knightly  lance  in  rest ; 

So  forth  he  rode  on  his  sacred  quest 
Seeking  the  Holy  Grail. 


THE  HOLY  GRAIL. 


And  lo  !  as  he  rode  from  land  to  land 
The  winds  of  heaven  his  forehead  fanned, 
Out  of  the  darkness  a  soft  light  shone, 
Whispering  winds  were  around  him  blown  ; 

He  saw  before  him  a  beckoning  hand. 
After  brave  deed  of  kindness  done 
He  came  to  the  land  of  the  setting  sun, 

Through  the  golden  gates  of  that  shining  land, 

A  vision  dawned  upon  his  sight. 
There,  in  a  glory  pure  and  grand, 

The  Holy  Grail  shone  white. 
In  the  fruitful  land  of  the  blooming  west, 

He  threw  aside  his  burnished  mail, 

He  rode  no  more  on  his  sacred  quest, 

He  found  the  Holy  Grail. 
And  a  mystic  song  through  the  portals  rang, 
And  a  mystic  voice  low  sang,  — 

The  pure  of  spirit,  of  purpose  strong, 

The  knightly  soul  that  shrinks  from  wrong, 

The  kindly  -hear  ted  shall  never  fail, 

To  him  is  given  the  Holy  Grail. 


102  THE  HOLY  GRAIL. 

The  world  shall  rejoice  in  what  is  done, 
And  gladder  be  for  the  prize  that's  toon. 
For  he  that  seeketh  seeks  not  alone 
To  himself  for  the  Holy  Grail. 


Valedictory  Poem,  State  Normal  School,  Trenton, 
New  Jersey,  June  27,  1878. 


CLASS  SONG. 


CLASS  SONG. 

VERY  thing  is  going, 
And  whither  does  it  go? 

•9 

Time  and  tide  are  flowing, 
And  whither  do  they  flow  ? 

They  call,  the  sweet  world  voices — 
They  call  us  on  and  on, 

And  every  heart  rejoices 
Although  the  past  is  gone. 

Yet  'tis  gone,  forever  gone. 

And  who  shall  do  his  duty  ? 

And  who  shall  turn  away  ? 
Whose  path  shall  lie  in  beauty  ? 

And  whose  through  shadows  gray  ? 
They  call,  the  sweet  world  voices — 

They  call  us  on  and  on, 
And  every  heart  rejoices 

Although  the  past  is  gone. 
Yet  'tis  gone,  forever  gone. 


103 


SIR  WULFERE'S  QUEST. 

(•^f  HE  day  was  fading,  the  day  was  low,' 
^^J   The  far  sun  shone  with  a  crimson  glow 
e>fe)     Lighting  the  depths  of  a  forest  old 

»       With  a  streaming  glory  of  red  and  gold. 
Under  the  glory  and  under  the  shade, 
In  anguish  of  spirit  Sir  Wulfere  prayed, 
"O  Thou  who  diedst  upon  the  tree, 
Come  from  Thy  heavens  and  pity  me." 

A  whisper  crept  through  the  boughs  of  oak. 
A  spirit  voice  to  the  kneeler  spoke. 
But  he  knelt  so  low  on  the  mossy  ground 
His  ears  were  dull  to  all  finer  sound. 
He  knelt  so  low  on  the  earth,  I  ween, 
He  saw  not  the  heavens'  glorious  sheen, 
Though  far  in  the  west  above  his  head 
Wide  banners  of  glory  his  Lord  had  spread, 


SIR   WUL FERE'S  QUEST.  105 

And  from  every  tree  in  the  haunted  wood 
The  birds  were  singing  of  Christ  the  Good. 
He  knelt  so  low  that  he  could  not  hear 
The  whispered  words  that  met  his  ear ; 
And  he  was  not  'ware  that  all  around 
The  silences  were  alive  with  sound. 

He  prayed  until  that  hour  when,  above  the  moun 
tains  gray, 
The  night  sees  visions  in  the  east  that  tell  her  of  the 

day; 
And  all  the  night,  above  the  trees,  within  the  silent 

sky, 
The  stars  yearned  down  their  gleaming  rays  to  draw 

his  soul  on  high. 
And  on  the  shining   pathway,   against   the  murky 

night, 
The  holy  ones  passed  to  and  fro  in  robes  of  trailing 

light. 
But  low  he  knelt,  so  low,  so  low,  he  saw  no  form  of 

air; 
Nor  even  in  the  eastern  sky,  the  morn  break  clear 

and  fair. 


106          SIR  WULFERE'S  QUEST. 

Sir  Wulfere  rose  from  his  vigil  sad 

And  his  heart  was  heavy  and  dead. 
"I  have  prayed  all  night  to  a  pitiless  sky 

That  mocked  my  prayer,"  he  said. 
"I  will  wander  forth  in  pain  and  grief 

And  bitterest  penance  do. 
Perchance  when  my  soul  is  weaned  from  earth 

Heaven's  glory  will  shine  through." 
He  doffed  his  coat  of  shining  mail, 

And  laid  his  lance  aside  ; 
And  clad  in  sackcloth  forth  he  fared 

To  seek  through  the  world  so  wide. 
For  weary  years  and  for  weary  years 

He  wandered  in  sorrow  and  pain, 
Nor  by  night  nor  day  in  his  castle  hall 

Through  the  years  was  he  seen  again. 

One  night  at  the  postern  a  bugle  blew 

And  the  warden  woke  in  dread. 
"Sure  that  is  my  lord  from  spirit  land 

Who  summons  our  souls,"  he  said. 
But  he  opened  the  gate  that  had  long  been  closed, 

While  his  hand  it  trembled  sore, 


SIR   WULFERKS  QUEST.  107 

And  Sir  Wulfere  rode  in  the  flesh  of  life 

In  at  the  open  door. 
The  friar  arose  from  his  chosen  seat — 

And  ever  his  beads  he  said — 
"Now  I  charge  thee  tell,  by  the  holy  rood, 

If  thou  art  alive  or  dead. 
For  thine  eyes  are  wild  as  a  spirit's  eyes 

And  thy  face  is  white  and  wan. 
I  charge  thee  tell,  by  the  holy  rood, 

If  thou  art  spirit  or  man." 
Sir  Wulfere  made  answer,  "Night  and  day 

Have  I  wandered  year  by  year, 
Mine  eyes  have  beheld  the  Lord  in  flesh 

And  therefore  I  am  here." 
The  friar  crossed  himself  where  he  stood, 

And  told  his  beads  the  while, 
"May  God  forgive  the  words  thou  hast  spoke 

And  keep  our  hearts  from  guile. 
Now  tell  me  the  tale  of  thy  wanderings, 

And  God  keep  us  from  sin, 
And  if  ever  a  fiend  hath  spoken  to  thee 

Mayst  thou  God's  mercy  win." 


108          SIX   IVUL FERE'S  QUEST. 

"  By  night  and  by  day,  in  sorrow  and  pain, 

I  wandered  for  weary  years  ; 
Seeking  for  mercy  from  heaven  above 

With  prayer,  and  penance,  and  tears. 
But  the  heavens  were  deaf  to  my  yearning  cry, 

And  closed  to  my  blinded  sight, 
No  voice  spake  peace  to  my  troubled  soul, 

No  morning  brought  me  light. 
Thus  year  by  year  like  a  restless  ghost 

Did  I  pass  from  land  to  land 
And  none  had  mercy  upon  my  soul, 

No  succor  seemed  at  hand. 

At  last  I  came  to  a  wondrous  plain — 

God's  spirit  pardon  me, — 
But  I  thought  it  the  land  of  eternal  death 

Where  the  evil  spirits  be. 
For  dim  and  gray  stretched  the  earth  away 

And  a  gray  sky  stooped  to  meet, 
And  ashes  and  dust  was  the  crumbling  earth 

Beneath  my  pilgrim  feet. 
The  light  that  lay  on  that  dreary  plain 

Was  neither  shadow  or  shine, 


WUL  FERES  QUEST.  109 


But  a  light  like  that  where  hopeless  souls 

In  endless  sorrow  pine. 
There  was  never  a  sound  but  a  piteous  moan 

Like  the  voice  of  a  wandering  ghoul, 
And  lo  !  as  I  shrank  from  the  dreary  scene 

A  sleep  came  down  on  my  soul. 
What  time  went  by  'neath  that  dark  sky 

As  I  lay  wrapped  in  a  spell, 
Or  what  spirit  broke  my  body's  yoke, 

My  lips  can  never  tell. 
But  when  I  awoke  from  that  charmed  sleep, 

Shuddering,  and  afraid 
Shorn  of  the  flesh  it  erst  had  worn, 

My  shivering  spirit  strayed." 

Faster  the  friar  told  his  beads, 
And  crossed  himself  the  while,  — 

"May  God  assoilzie  thy  sinful  soul 
And  keep  our  hearts  from  guile." 

"Now  the  air  about  me  was  thick  with  forms 
Of  many  a  fiend  and  ghoul. 


IIO          SIX   WUL FERE'S  QUEST. 

And  I  was  'ware  as  I  wandered  there 

They  strove  to  possess  my  soul. 
They  were  evil  things  on  shadowy  wings 

And  the  air  was  alive  with  sound  ; 
And  all  the  while  with  a  ghastly  smile 

My  body  lay  on  the  ground. 
Then  I  was  'ware  of  a  sudden  light 

Shimmering,  soft  and  fair; 
And  in  its  gleam  the  evil  things 

Seemed  melting  away  to  air. 
The  light  grew  brighter,  and  demon  form 

With  form  did  intertwist. 
Fainter  and  fainter  they  grew  and  grew 

Till  they  vanished  into  mist. 
Brighter  and  brighter  grew  the  light, 

And  a  musical  sound  upsprang, 
As  though  the  harps  of  the  heavenly  host 

O'er  a  ransomed  spirit  rang. 
Louder  the  heavenly  music  grew, 

And  the  light  was  fairer  than  day, 
Then  prostrate  fell  my  trembling  soul 

And  never  a  word  did  say. 


SIR  WULFERES  QUEST. 

But  I  felt,  as  a  sleeping  child  might  feel 

Its  mother  bend  above, 
That  a  holy  presence  was  over  me, 

And  my  soul  was  wrapped  in  love. 

Then  the  music  ceased,  and  I  heard  a  voice, 

But  strange  it  seemed  to  me, — 
It  sounded  like  to  the  whispering  winds 

That  kiss  the  greenwood  tree. 
The  voice  said,  'I  am  Christ  the  Lord. 

Thy  sins  are  washed  away ; 
I  gave  my  life  on  holy  rood 

To  succor  souls  that  stray. 
Look  up,  look  up,  O  shrinking  soul ! 

To  him  who  died  on  tree. 
Behold  the  glorious  banners  gleam 

Of  the  Lord  who  loveth  thee.' 

Thereat,  alert  with  joyous  love, 

I  raised  mine  eyes  to  see. 
And  I  beheld  the  heavenly  One, — 

Yet  strange  it  seemed  to  me  ; 


1 1  2          SIH   WUL FERE'S  QUEST. 

For  as  I  looked  it  all  had  changed, 

Yet  of  change  I  was  not  'ware, 
I  only  beheld  the  morning  light 

Break  in  the  sky  most  fair. 
Banners  of  gold  and  crimson  light 

Streamed  up  before  mine  eyes, 
And  a  spirit  voice  swept  past  my  ear 

Like  a  wind  at  some  sunrise. 
And  all  my  soul  in  flesh  was  clothed, 

And  my  spirit  filled  with  light. 
Then  straight  I  prayed  and  the  Lord  seemed  near 

And  heaven  just  out  of  sight." 

The  holy  friar  drew  in  his  breath. 

He  had  ceased  his  beads  to  say, 
He  had  almost  neglected  to  cross  himself, 

And  half  forgotten  to  pray. 
And  he  said,  "  'Tis  a  strange  and  wondrous  thing 

Some  dream  has  brought  to  thee, 
For  would  Christ  speak  thus  to  a  sinful  soul 

And  not  to  a  priest  like  me  ? 


SIR   WULFER&S  QUEST.  113 

Sir  Wulfere  answered  never  a  word 

But  a  soft  light  shone  in  his  eyes. 
He  wandered  no  more  to  seek  his  Lord 

'Neath  cloudy  or  sunny  skies. 

There  was  never  a  breeze  through  the  greenwood 
sighed 

But  called  his  spirit  to  prayer, 
There  was  never  a  morning  broke  in  the  skies 

But  he  saw  a  vision  there. 
A  spirit  spoke  in  the  morning  breeze 

And  smiled  in  the  evening  sky 
And  the  angels  came  down  the  ladder  of  light 

When  the  evening  stars  shone  high. 


VOICES. 

him  who  in  the  olden  time  in  flesh  spake  to 
his  Lord 

came   not    clothed    in    terrors    with    his 
avenging  sword, 
He  came  not  in  his  anger,  not  in  snow  nor  hail  nor 

rain, 
He  was  not   in   the  earthquake's  shock,  or   flying 

hurricane. 

He  spake  not  to  his  servant  in  the  terror  of  his  ire. 
He  was  not  in  the  lightning's  glare,  or  quivering 
tongues  of  fire. 


I 


Over  the  soul  of  man  on  the  desolate  shore  of  life 
Sweepeth  the  tempest  of  passion  leaving  his  spirit 
bare. 


VOICES.  1 1  5 

Gone  is  the  sunshine  of  hope,  the  beautiful  light  of 

life. 
Strong  are  the  powers  of  darkness,  the  terrors  of 

despair. 
Upon   that  shore  of  life,  loud   roar  the  billows  of 

death. 
He  hears  their  hoarse  deep  voices,  he  feels  their 

tossing  spray, 
The  bright  things  he  has  treasured  and  has  worn 

upon  his  bosom 

Upon  the  foaming  billows  are  drifting  far  away. 
God  is  not  in  the  tempest,  and  the  tempest  passes  by. 
But  the  dark  clouds  of  hopelessness  still  linger  o'er 

his  way. 

The  bitter  anguish  passes,  but  as  far  as  he  can  see 
Before  him  stretch  the  sands  of  life,  a  desert  cold 
and  gray. 


Silence  brooded  o'er  the  face  of  heaven. 

Then  a  Voice  came  solemnly  and  slow, 
"Downward  tendeth  man  the  unforgiven 

Through  weary  paths  of  woe. 


1 6  VOICES.     . 

Never  changing  sun  or  morn  or  clime 
Bringeth  to  his  gloomy  state  relief. 

All  his  fleeting  joys  are  naught  but  cloud  joys 
And  change  to  rains  of  grief." 

Sighed  the  winds,  and  sighed  the  restless  waters, 
Moaned  the  universe ;  then  silence  came 

As  ruin  comet h  with  the  flying  storm 
And  blackness  after  flame. 

Then  the  Voice  wailed  out  across  the  silence, 
As  o'er  the  quivering  bosom  of  the  skies 

The  red-winged  lightning  of  the  vengeful  storm 
Goes  forth  for  sacrifice. 

"Through  the  dreary  ages  of  creation 
Man  is  naught  and  man  will  never  be 

Till  the  years  gaze  from  their  fallen  temples 
Upon  Eternity. 

Never  changing  sun  or  moon  or  clime 
Bringeth  to  his  gloomy  state  relief. 


VOICES.  I  i  7 

All  his  fleeting  joys  are  naught  but  cloud  joys 
And  change  to  rains  of  grief. ' ' ' 


II 


The  firm  earth  rocks  like  the  wind  tost  main. 

The  towers  of  our  trust  are  falling. 
There  is  nowhere  to  rest,  there  is  nothing  to  trust 

And  fiery  fiends  are  calling. 

Out  of  the  depths  of  the  reeling  earth 

The  fiendish  voices  are  crying. 
There  is  nowhere  to  flee,  there  is  nothing  to  trust 

The  hope  that  we  loved  is  dying. 

Helpless  we  stretch  out  our  aimless  hands 

For  light  in  the  darkness  groping. 
There  is  nowhere  to  rest,  there  is  nothing  to  trust 

We  are  sick  of  delusive  hoping. 

Give  us  rest,  but  rest  for  a  moment's  space, 
Firm  earth  for  our  feet.     We  are  falling. 

There  is  nowhere  to  flee,  there  is  nothing  to  trust, 
And  the  fiendish  voices  are  calling. 


1 1 8  VOICES. 

Darkness  and  gloom  and  horror, 
Shadowy,  flitting  forms 
Fiendish  whispers,   "No  hope,  no  hope." 
Is  there  One  above  all  storms? 

Ill 

Fire,  burning  fire. 

No  rest,  no  peace. 

Is  there  One  who  from  torture 

Can  give  me  release? 

Fire,  burning  fire. 
Unblest,  unblest  ! 
Is  there  One  who  will  take  me 
Unto  his  rest  ? 

Longing  and  dreading. 
Afraid  to  believe. 
Is  there  One  far  above  me 
My  soul  to  receive  ? 


VOICES.  I  i  g 


IV 


A  still  small  voice  :  God  calling, 

"What  dost  thou  here? 
Lo  !  thou  art  the  child  of  my  tender  love, 

Be  of  good  cheer. 

Arise  and  come  to  my  vineyard, 

Drink  of  the  holy  wine, 
Eat  of  the  bread  of  eternal  life. 

Lo  !  thou  art  mine." 

Life's  joys  are  but  cloud  joys, 

Soon  they  change  into  rain, 
But  it  gladdens  the  hillsides, 

Makes  fruitful  the  plain. 
What  flowers  are  springing 

Of  patience  and  faith 
Whose  perfume  anointeth 

The  soul  unto  death  ! 


THE  ROVER. 

the  western  wind  was  dank  with  rain 
Over  the  sea  the  Rover  came. 
Over  the  sea  from  a  far  countree, 
Where  he  had  wandered  for  glory  and  gain. 
From  scenes  of  blood  and  of  death  he  came 
To  clasp  his  own  to  his  heart  again. 

Oh  his  own  was  weary  waiting  ! 

Seven  times  had  the  leaves  grown  sere 
Faint  with  the  breath  of  the  dying  year, 
Since  over  the  sea  from  his  own  countree 
The  Rover  went  seeking  in  danger  drear 
Glory,  and  honor,  and  worldly  gear 
To  lay  at  the  feet  of  his  lady  dear. 

Oh  it  was  weary  waiting  ! 

He  sailed  and  sailed  when  the  sun  was  high, 
He  sailed  when  the  stars  shone  over  the  sky, 
Over  the  sea  to  his  own  countree. 


THE  ROVER.  121 

Weak,  and  wounded,  and  ready  to  die, 

No  hope  in  his  heart,  and  no  light  in  his  eye, 

And  on  his  lips  the  piteous  cry, 

What  comes  of  this  weary  waiting  ? 

For  in  shine  and  in  shower,  by  night  and  by  day, 
Down  the  steep  of  the  world  he  had  sailed  away. 
He  had  seen  a  sight  that  he  dared  not  name. 
He  had  done  a  deed  of  darkness  and  shame. 
His  hands  were  red  and  his  heart  was  sore 
For  the  sin  he  had  sinned,  and  for  her  who  wore 
The  pledge  of  his  love  on  a  lonely  shore, 

And  whose  heart  was  weary  waiting. 

As  the  Rover  lay  in  a  slumber  deep 
Slowly  the  ship  sailed  to  the  strand, — 
To  the  shore  of  the  sea  in  his  own  countree. 
But  a  troubled  vision  sank  into  his  sleep 
Or  ever  his  ship  had  gained  the  land. 
Oh  red  was  the  stain  upon  his  hand  ! 

And  sad  was  the  weary  waiting  ! 


122  THE  ROVER. 

The  vision's  face  was  veiled  from  sight, 
The  vision's  voice  was  cold  and  low, 
And  the  Rover  could  not  guess  aright 
Whether  it  came  for  weal  or  woe. 
Far  off  he  heard  the  tempests  blow 

On  the  desolate,  wind-swept  ocean. 

The  vision's  voice  was  hushed  and  low. 

It  fell  upon  the  Rover's  ears 

Cold  and  soft  like  the  fall  of  snow, 

Soft  and  still  like  the  fall  of  tears 

Day  and  night  through  the  lonely  years 

When  the  heart  is  weary  waiting. 

"Thou  hast  the  glory  thou  went'st  to  seek, 
Thou  hast  the  worldly  gear  and  gain, 
But  thy  strong  right  hand  is  waxen  weak 
And  dyed  red  with  a  grievous  stain. 
Not  so  shalt  thou  clasp  to  thy  heart  again 

Thine  own,  who  is  weary  waiting. 

Spotless  and  white  the  hand  must  be 
That  white  and  spotless  hand  to  win. 


THE  ROVER. 


123 


Wilt  them  keep  the  wealth  that  has  come  to  thee  ? 
Wilt  thou  keep  the  glory  ?  and  keep  the  sin  ? 
To  all  the  world  thou  mayst  entrance  win 

Save  only  to  her  who  is  waiting." 

Wilt  thou  lose  the  wealth  of  earth  and  sea 
Which  for  earnest  seeking  thou  wand'redst  forth  ? 
Wilt  thou  lose  the  glory  that  came  to  thee  ? 
All  thou  hast  sought  for  in  dolor  and  dearth, 
The  fame  of  the  world  and  the  wealth  of  the  earth 
Wilt  thou  lose  for  one  who  is  waiting?" 

"What  boots  the  glory  that  I  should  choose, 
If  I  must  wear  it  in  loneness  drear  ? 
Free  as  I  won  them,  freely  I  lose 
Glory,  and  honor,  and  worldly  gear, 
All  for  the  sake  of  my  lady  dear. 

Alas  for  the  weary  waiting  !" 

"Thou  hast  given  thy  life's  best  days 
To  win  the  wealth  thou  dost  lightly  lose. 
Think  what  awaits  thee,  men's  fair  praise, 


124  THE  ROVER. 

Glory,  and  honor.     Pause  and  choose." 
"Lo  !  I  have  chosen.     Them  I  lose, 

Lose  for  my  love  who  is  waiting." 

"Spotless  and  white  the  hand  must  be 
That  white  and  spotless  hand  to  claim. 
Thou  hast  given  the  good  that  came  to  thee, 
But  thou  must  be  washen  white  from  stain, 
White  from  thy  deed  of  darkness  and  shame 

Ere  endeth  the  weary  waiting. 

Billows  of  grief  o'er  thy  heart  must  roll 
Ere  the  stain  can  be  washed  away. 
Waters  of  bitterness  flow  o'er  thy  soul 
Ere  thou  art  worthy  to  clasp  for  aye 
Close  to  thy  heart  while  the  world  shall  stay 

Thine  own  who  is  weary  waiting. 

Wilt  thou  bear  the  grief  that  will  come  to  thee  ? 
Wilt  thou  bear  the  sorrow  ?  and  bear  the  pain  ? 
The  face  of  thy  waiting  love  to  see, 
To  clasp  thine  own  to  thy  heart  again, 


THE  ROVER. 


125 


With  hand  and  heart  that  are  free  from  stain 

After  the  weary  waiting." 

"Lo  !  I  have  suffered  pain  and  grief 
To  win  the  wealth  that  has  gone  from  me. 
Why  to-day  should  I  seek  relief 
From  pain  instead  of  my  love  to  see  ? 
But  brief,  oh  brief !    may  the  sorrow  be  ; 

For  long  is  the  weary  waiting." 

The  vision's  face  was  veiled  from  sight, 
The  vision's  voice  was  hushed  and  low, 
And  the  Rover  could  not  guess  aright 
Whether  it  came  for  weal  or  woe. 
Nearer  he  heard  the  tempests  blow 

On  the  desolate  wind-swept  ocean. 

Nearer  he  heard  the  tempests  blow, 
Louder  he  heard  the  billows  roll ; 
But  the  spell  of  his  slumber  held  him  low 
And  the  spell  of  his  sleep  was  on  his  soul. 
The  vision  held  him  in  strong  control. 

Alas  for  her  who  is  waiting  ! 


126  THE  ROVER. 

The  lady  lay  in  a  fever-sleep 

Where  troubled  visions  held  their  sway. 

And  her  maidens  whispered,  "Weep,  oh  weep! 

The  lady  dies  ere  the  dawn  of  day, 

And  the  loved  of  her  soul  is  far  away. 

What  comes  of  the  weary  waiting?" 

Why  do  the  seething  billows  swell  ? 
Why  do  the  waters  spread  so  wide  ? 
Sure  never  before  on  the  surf-beat  shore 
Was  seen  such  a  high  and  wondrous  tide. 
Lo  !  who  on  the  billow's  crest  doth  ride 

After  the  weary  waiting  ? 

The  waters  came  with  a  surging  swell, 
The  waters  came  with  a  sullen  roar, 
Beating  the  strand  like  a  funeral  knell, 
And  laid  him  low  at  the  lady's  door, 
All  his  journey  ended  and  o'er; 

Ended  the  weary  waiting. 

When  the  western  wind  was  dank  with  rain 
The  Rover  went  down  to  the  sea  again. 


THE  ROVER. 


127 


On  the  shore  of  the  sea  in  his  own  countree 
Whence  he  had  wandered  for  glory  and  gain 
He  clasped  his  own  to  his  heart  again. 
Ended  and  over  the  pitiful  pain, 

Ended  the  weary  waiting. 


IN  THE  SOUTH. 

many  a  sunny  field  where  grasses  waving 
Bend  rippling  to  the  summer  breezes'  swell, 

fin  many  a  forest  where  the  solemn  voices 
Of  giant  trees  have  caught  a  funeral  knell, 

By  many  a  mighty  river  flowing  seaward 

Whose  banks  are  darkened  by  the  cypress  shade 

Or  brightened  by  the  golden-flowering  jasmine, 
The  lowly  graves  of  gallant  hearts  are  made. 

There  in  the  silence  of  the  summer  twilight 
Is  heard  the  lone  cry  of  the  whip-poor-will. 

There  weep  the  summer  rains  their  tears  of  pity. 
There  summer  dews  fall  tenderly  and  still. 

There  thousands  sleep — the  loved  and  the  remem 
bered. 

There  thousands  sleep — the  brave  and  the  forgot. 
Amid  the  unknown  and  unremembered  sleepers 

There  lieth  one  whose  low  grave  is  unsought. 


IN  THE  SOUTH. 


129 


No  hand  puts  back  the  trailing  wood-vine's  tangle  ; 

No  lips  bend  reverent  down  to  kiss  the  sod ; 
No  woman's  heart  breaks  o'er  it  in  wild  anguish ; 

The  sleeper  sleeps  in  silence  with  his  God. 

He  had  a  hard  fight,  but  the  strife  is  over. 

He  had  a  dark  road,  but  the  light  has  come. 
Long  ago  the  weary  heart  ceased  beating, 

Long  ago  the  tired  lips  grew  dumb. 

When  the  troops  were  quartered  in  the  valley — 
Troops  of  a  New  England  regiment — 

As  a  guard  upon  some  old  plantation, 
He  with  a  command  of  men  was  sent. 

'Twas  a  fine  old  place  upon  the  river, 
Dim  with  memories  of  a  hundred  years, 

Fragrant  with  the  breath  of  climbing  jasmine, 
Tall  rose-trees,  and  trailing  eglateres. 

Fragrant  cedars  closed  around  it,  darkly, 
Tall  magnolias  reached  up  to  the  light. 


130  IN  THE  SOUTH. 

'Twas  a  proud  old  place  fit  for  the  story 
Of  some  lady  fair  and  gallant  knight. 

And  the  romance  castle  had  its  lady, 

Fair  as  any  of  an  eastern  tale 
With  dark  tresses  fragrant,  musk-emperfumed, 

Falling  from  the  dim  mesh  of  her  veil. 

Dreamy  dim  her  dark  eyes,  vision-freighted, 
Dreamy  with  the  langour  of  the  east. 

She  had  wandered  from  an  eastern  story, 
Stol'n  by  genii  from  a  fairy  feast. 

So  the  young  guard  thought  the  day  he  saw  her 

Stealing  underneath  the  cedars  tall, 
With  her  dark  eyes  full  of  wistful  longing, 

Gazing  southward  o'er  the  garden  wall. 

So  he  thought  as  day  by  day  he  watched  her 
Down  the  dim  walks  of  that  garden  old. 

Once  he  brought  her  a  great  bunch  of  jasmine, 
Hoped  she'd  take  it — would  not  think  him  bold. 


IN  THE  SOUTH. 

And  she  took  it.     Rosy  clouds  of  color 

Flushed  her  dark  cheek,  and  the  princess  tall 

Deigned  to  speak  to  the  blue-coated  soldier, 
Stayed  a  moment  by  the  garden  wall. 

And  the  days  went  by,  the  tender,  dreamy, 
Sweet  days  that  the  south  alone  can  give, 

When  to  breathe  is  a  delicious  rapture, 
When  'tis  bliss  untold  simply  to  live. 

Days  went  by,  and  the  proud  eastern  princess, 
As  if  freed  from  the  enchanter's  spell, 

Lost  her  quiet  for  a  changeful  languor. 

Who  the  meaning  of  the  change  might  tell  ? 

Day  by  day  his  blue  eyes  gleamed  and  softened 
Drinking  deep  the  radiance  of  her  own. 

Day  by  day  he  smiled,  content  with  hearing, 
Listening  the  low  music  of  her  tone. 

And  the  end  came.     You  and  I  could  guess  it. 
They  guessed  not  that  any  end  should  come. 


132  IN  THE  SOUTH. 

They  thought  not  of  war  and  war's  divisions, 

Dreamed  not  all  the  meaning  of  the  wild  war  drum. 

She  the  daughter  of  a  southern  household 

He  a  soldier  of  the  rank  and  file, 
With  a  blue  coat  for  his  badge  of  fealty, 

Dared  to  dream  their  dream  of  love  the  while. 

Summons  came  to  him  one  summer  morning, 
"March  at  once  and  join  your  regiment, 

The  enemy  are  lurking  all  around  us, 
Battle  we  suppose  is  imminent." 

There  was  nothing  strange  in  the  brief  letter, 
Yet  the  young  guard  sat  with  bended  head 

Silent  long,  and  when  at  last  he  went  out 
To  the  day,  the  day  seemed  dim  and  dead. 

All  the  light  had  faded  from  his  future. 

When  he  went  away  he'd  leave,  beside 
The  mere  romance  of  the  charmed  castle, 

Light,  and  life,  and  love  the  tender-eyed. 


IN  THE  SOUTH.  !33 

He  gave  orders  to  the  men  on  duty. 

They  received  them  with  a  glad  huzza. 
It  was  dull  work  out  here  in  the  country. 

In  such  orders  they'd  not  find  a  flaw. 

And  he  said  good  bye.     The  dark-eyed  princess 
Had  gone  back  beneath  the  wizard  spell. 

She  was  proud,  and  still,  and  cold,  and  silent. 
What  had  caused  the  change?  Ah  !  who  can  tell? 

E'en  her  rosy  lips  had  lost  their  blossom, 
The  little  hand  she  laid  in  his  was  cold. 

Wild,  mad  thoughts  swam  dizzily  before  him 
As  he  stood  that  white  hand  in  his  hold. 

Then  he  turned  away  ;  but  in  a  moment 
She  was  by  him,  and,  before  his  eyes 

Held  a  miniature  on  ivory  painted 
Of  a  fair  boy  face  with  dreamy  eyes. 

"Take  it,"  said  she  hoarsely,  "'Tis  my  brother; 
If  you  meet  to-morrow  in  the  fight, 


134 


IN  THE  SOUTH. 


Spare  him  for  my  sake.     Good  bye  forever." 
So  she  passed  away  from  out  his  sight. 

But  the  next  day  when  the  fight  was  raging 

At  its  very  height,  his  comrade  saw 
A  young  colonel  of  the  charging  forces 

Close  with  him  hand  to  hand  and  saw  him  draw 

Back  his  arm  for  the  last  fatal  effort, 

When  he  glanced  into  the  colonel's  face, — 

Dropped  his  weapon,  and  the  moment  after 
Fell  down  lifeless  in  the  crowded  space. 

The  colonel  was  a  gallant  looking  fellow, 
A  mere  boy  with  dreamy  southern  eyes 

And  fair  face  ;  he  got  away  un wounded, 
But  the  fallen  soldier  slept  no  more  to  rise. 

When  they  buried  him  they  found  some  flowers, 
Faded  things,  so  dead  one  could  not  tell 

What  they  were ;  his  comrade  called  them  jasmine 
From  a  lingering  hint  of  fragrant  smell. 


IN-  THE  SOUTH. 


135 


There  was  a  little  miniature  beside  them, 

They  thought  his  sweetheart's,  but  to  their  surprise 

'Twas  a  fair  boy  face  with  dark  locks  curling 
Round  the  brows,  and  dreamy  southern  eyes. 


RETROSPECT. 

ID  the  dusk  of  coming  darkness, 

'Mid  the  twilight's  deep'ning  gloom, 
Breezes  from  the  past  are  blowing, 

Laden  with  a  faint  perfume 
Of  the  flowers  that  flushed  and  faded 

Years  and  years  ago  for  me, 
When  the  flush  of  morn  was  fairest 
And  the  bloom  was  on  the  tree. 

Mem'ry  like  a  solemn  river 

Ever  flows  before  mine  eyes, 
Mem'ry  of  a  time  long  faded, 

Greener  earth  and  bluer  skies. 
And  a  fair  face  floats  forever 

O'er  the  deep  tide  of  my  dreams 
As  the  snowy  water  lilies 

Float  above  their  native  streams. 


RETROSPECT.  137 

Once  that  face  held  all  the  brightness 

All  the  gladness  of  my  life, 
Guiding  star  and  flower  of  beauty 

Spirit  face  of  my  young  wife. 
Flushed  that  face  like  clouds  of  morning 

On  the  day  she  was  my  bride, 
Paled  that  face  like  clouds  of  evening 

On  the  morrow  when  she  died. 

In  the  morning  flashed  the  billows 

When  we  put  away  to  sea ; 
On  the  morrow  low  and  sullen 

Was  the  dirge  they  sang  to  me. 
Dark  above  the  tossing  water 

Stooped  the  Storm  with  low' ring  frown, 
Hand  in  hand  we  dared  its  fury 

As  the  gallant  ship  went  down. 

But  the  billows  in  their  passion 
Caught  the  hand  held  in  my  own. 

Life  ebbed  from  me  into  darkness 
Then  came  back  to  me,  alone. 


138  RETROSPECT. 

Life  came  back  without  life's  glory, 
Shorn  of  all  its  joy  and  light, 

Filled  with  voice  of  moaning  waters, 
Darkened  with  a  moonless  night, 

Night  whose  dawn  came  never,  never 

Through  the  weary  waiting  years, 
Night  whose  winds  blew  from  the  ocean, 

Night  whose  dews  were  dews  of  tears. 
But,  as,  in  a  lonely  country 

Wrapped  about  in  gloom  of  night, 
Some  worn  wanderer  dreams  of  beauty 

Till  his  weary  way  grows  bright  ; 

So  I  dreamed  of  bye-gone  beauties, 
Of  the  dear  delights  of  yore, 

Till  I  fancied  in  my  weakness 

They  were  round  my  way  once  more. 

As  a  trav'ler  finds,  far  distant 
From  his  home,  a  river  wide 

Flowing  from  the  tiny  streamlet 
When  a  child  he  played  beside ; 


RETROSPECT. 

And,  heart-filled  with  fragrant  fancies 
.Of  that  far-away,  sweet  time, 

Hears  the  music  of  its  billows 
Sound  an  unforgotten  chime  ; 

So  I  stand  beside  the  river 

Flowing  from  the  past  to  me, 
And  its  music  is  the  music 

Of  a  voice  from  out  the  sea. 
And  a  fair  face  floats  forever 

O'er  the  deep  tide  of  my  dreams 
As  the  snowy  water  lilies 

Float  above  their  native  streams. 


139 


HEART'S  DESIRE. 

iNE  summer  day  I  sailed  away 
Across  the  bounding  sea. 

The  sky  was  clear  above  my  head, 
The  waves  were  flashing  free, 

And  all  the  sky  was  full  of  light, 
And  full  of  light  the  sea. 

I  watched,  within  the  old  sea  town, 
The  light  upon  the  spire, 

Until  the  belfry  changed  into 
A  belfry  built  of  fire  ; 

For  underneath  the  belfry  tall 
She  sat,  my  Heart's  Desire. 

I  sailed  away,  away,  away, 
Across  the  bounding  sea ; 

And  soon  above  the  waters  blue 
They  came  to  welcome  me — 


HEAR  T ' 5  DESIRE.  \  4 1 

The  maidens  I  had  seen  before — 
The  maidens  of  the  sea. 

Long  days  before,  when  from  the  shore 

I  sailed  away  alone, 

A  sea-king  whispered,  "Choose  for  thee 
One  of  these  maidens  fair  to  see ; 
And  then  come  dwell  beneath  the  sea, 
In  a  wonderful  palace  of  glamourie 

Where  the  sea  will  ne'er  make  moan." 

And  I  laughed  aloud,  as  I  answer  made 

To  the  sea-king's  offer  fair, 
''Nay:  let  thy  maidens,  undisturbed, 

Still  comb  their  emerald  hair  ; 
For  they  are  cold  for  me  to  love 

And  I  know  of  one  more  fair." 

So  lightly  and  so  carelessly 

I  answered  the  sea-maids'  sire. 
For  four  things  go  to  the  making 

Of  my  beautiful  Heart's  Desire. 


142 


HEARTS  DESIRE. 

And  two  are  flowers  and  fragrance, 
And  two  are  frost  and  fire. 

Oh  !  the  beautiful,  beautiful  sea-maids 
With  their  streaming  emerald  hair  ! 

Oh  !  the  beautiful,  beautiful  sea-maids 
With  their  features  cold  and  fair  ! 

I  leaned  o'er  the  prow  to  watch  them 
Before  I  was  well  aware. 

Their  eyes  were  as  dark  as  the  deep  sea  waves 
And  bright  as  the  gems  that  shine. 

Their  cheeks  were  as  white  as  the  drifting  foam. 
Their  lips  were  redder  than  wine. 

And  the  voice  of  their  song  was  sweet  and  strong 
As  the  voice  of  the  crested  brine. 

But  as  I  heard  it,  high  and  higher 

I  heard  the  voice  of  my  Heart's  Desire, 

Singing  beneath  the  belfry  spire. 

Beautiful,  beautiful  maids  of  the  sea ! 
Low  and  soft  came  their  song  to  me, 


HEART'S  DESIRE. 


H3 


And  in  that  song  there  was  glamourie. 
They  lulled  me  into  a  reverie 
Of  pearl-fashioned  palaces  under  the  sea, 
Where  all  things  splendid  and  sparkling  be, 
And  I  sank  into  dreams  as  I  rocked  on  the  sea. 

For  still  as  I  watched  them,  low  and  lower, 
Until  I  could  hear  its  cadence  no  more, 
Sounded  the  singing  from  off  the  shore, 
Where  underneath  the  belfry  spire, 
Which  the  setting  sun  had  turned  to  fire, 
Was  sitting  and  singing,  my  Heart's  Desire. 
I  slept  and  dreamed,  and  waking  seemed 
And  wandering  under  the  sea. 

And  the  fairest  maid  of  the  sea-king's  home 

Was  ever  leading  me. 

There  were  horrible  sights  of  dead  men's  bones. 
There  were  horrible  sounds  of  dying  groans. 
And  the  light  of  her  beautiful  features  streamed 
On  horrible  monsters  that  coiled  and  gleamed 
With  slimy  brightness;  and  writhed  and  coiled, 


144 


HEART'S  DESIRE. 

While  the  slimy  waters  bubbled  and  boiled, 
And  in  the  midst  of  the  sights  of  the  sea 
The  beautiful  maiden  was  lost  to  me. 

When  I  awoke  from  my  dreams  on  the  sea, 
The  world  looked  faded  and  strange  to  me ; 
And  I  shivered  with  cold,  as  an  old  man  might 
Who  had  been  out  on  the  waves  all  night. 
I  shivered  as  though  some  maid  of  the  sea 
With  her  icy  breath  were  near  to  me. 

On  a  cold,  cold  day,  I  sailed  away 

Back  to  my  native  town  ; 
And  smiled  as  I  saw  the  waters  blue 

Sweep  over  the  sedges  brown  ; 
And  sighed  as  I  saw  a  funeral  train 

From  the  heights  come  winding  down. 

And  shivered  more  with  deadly  cold, 

As  I  stepped  upon  the  shore  ; 
And  the  slow-moving  funeral  train 

Came  near  me  more  and  more, 


HEARTS  DESIRE. 

And  I  saw  the  face,  in  the  fading  light, 
Which  the  sunbeams  quivered  o'er. 

Under  the  gleaming  belfry  spire, 
Which  the  setting  sun  had  turned  to  fire, 
Solemnly  chanting,  a  funeral  choir 
Bore  to  her  grave  my  Heart's  Desire. 
My  hair  was  grey  as  I  stood  by  the  sea. 
My  beard  on  the  cold  air  floated  free, 
And  the  whole  wide  world  was  dark  to  me 
As  the  setting  sun  sank  into  the  sea. 


LONG  AGO. 

HAVE  grown  old,  and  the  cap  that  I  wear 
Is  scarcely  more  white  than  my  faded  hair, 
And  the  little  pink  bows  I  fasten  there 
I  am  told  have  a  very  old-fashioned  air. 

And  sometimes  I  think  I  remind  myself 

Of  a  dainty  old  gown  that  was  laid  on  a  shelf 

In   my  dear  mother's   house,  old-fashioned   and 

queer, 
With  a  faint  sweet  smell  of  dried  lavender. 

Though  all  things  are  changed  that  belonged  to  me, 
And  nothing  is  left  as  it  used  to  be, 
This  sweet  fall  weather  brings  past  things  again 
As  flowers  revive  in  a  warm  spring  rain. 

It  isn't  often  I  think  of  such  things, 

But  the  soul  of  the  autumn  within  me  sings 


LONG  AGO. 


And  tells  me  strange  things  that  are  sweet  to  me 
Of  the  days  and  the  hours  that  used  to  be. 

And  so  in  the  time  of  the  fading  year, 
When  the  first  green  leaves  grow  faded  and  sere 
And  the  clouds  are  so  fleecy  and  light  above, 
I  think  of  the  days  when  I  was  in  love. 

Of  course  those  days  were  long  ago. 
The  orchards  were  white  with  fragrant  snow. 
The  winds  were  whispering  everywhere. 
And  I  never  since  saw  the  world  so  fair. 

It  all  began  one  sweet  spring  night. 

The  stars  were  faint  in  the  moon's  soft  light. 

And  I  went  to  a  party  across  the  way 

At  Judge  De  Vere's  with  Percy  Gray. 

I  wore  a  skirt  of  white  brocade 
Full  and  short  that  just  displayed 
My  white  silk  slippers,  on  which  I  chose 
To  wear  that  night  a  faint  blush  rose. 


1 48  LONG  AGO. 

My  long  white  bodice  with  pointed  waist 
With  cords  of  silk  was  closely  laced. 
It  was  trimmed  with  down  and  here  and  there 
With  blush  rosebuds;  and  buds  in  my  hair. 

That  long-past  night  I  remember  yet. 
The  opening  dance  was  a  minuet. 
And  Percy  and  I  danced  side  by  side 
To  the  silvery  sounds  in  the  parlor  wide. 

The  night  was  a  maze  of  flowers  and  bloom, 
Of  music  and  light  and  rare  perfume, 
Of  tender  words  and  of  shining  eyes — 
And  then  I  was  out  'neath  the  moonlit  skies, 

Out  'neath  the  skies  with  Percy  Gray, 
And  why  I  had  come  I  never  could  say ; 
Walking  along  'neath  the  swaying  trees 
Whose  boughs  were  kissed  by  the  evening  breeze. 

The  fragrant  winds  they  touched  my  cheek, 
The  soft  moon  shone,  but  he  did  not  speak, 


LONG  AGO.  149 

And  my  heart  beat  fast  with  a  quick  delight 
That  was  not  due  to  the  summer  night. 

I  cannot  tell  the  how  nor  when. 
I  had  never  a  thought  of  love  till  then. 
But  before  I  knew  the  thing  was  true 
We  were  walking  along  as  lovers  do. 

Walking  along  in  a  dream  of  bliss, 
My  heart  wild  beating  at  love's  first  kiss, 
My  hand  warm  clasped  in  another's  hand, 
And  my  young  feet  straying  in  fairy  land. 

It  all  began  that  night  in  May 
When  winds  were  soft  and  flowers  gay. 
The  summer  days  were  fair,  how  fair  ! 
They  slipped  away  I  know  not  where. 

They  were,  golden  days  filled  to  the  brim 
With  beautiful  thoughts  of  love  and  him. 
They  were  flying  hours  with  winged  feet. 
Ah  never  since  then  has  time  been  fleet ! 


150 


LONG  AGO. 


For  when  the  summer  days  were  done 

And  the  trees  flushed  red  'neath  the  autumn  sun, 

A  plague  swept  over  our  little  town 

Mowing  the  bravest  and  strongest  down. 

And  we  went  away,  but  I  fell  ill. 
The  world  grew  dark  and  time  stood  still. 
And  day  and  night  the  fever  drank 
My  blood  of  life  till  all  hope  sank. 

But  after  all  the  fever  passed 

And  I  came  back  to  the  world  at  last, 

To  find  its  glory  passed  away 

And  laid  in  the  grave  with  Percy  Gray. 

I  did  not  grieve  so  much  for  him. 
It  was  not  that,  but  the  world  grew  dim, 
Grew  dim  and  gray  before  my  eyes 
The  glory  dashed  from  its  glowing  skies. 

I  did  not  pine  to  hear  him  speak 
Nor  to  see  his  face,  but  I  felt  so  weak, 


LONG  AGO.  151 

So  weak  and  helpless  and  all  alone, 
The  light  and  color  and  beauty  gone. 

I  did  not  want  to  live  again 
And  take  up  the  weight  of  an  endless  pain. 
Yet  still  I  lived ;  till  my  hair,  that  day 
So  bright  and  brown,  is  thin  and  gray. 

And  I  rarely  think  of  those  days  gone  by 
Save  under  a  tender  autumn  sky. 
But  it  always  brings  strange  thoughts  to  me 
Of  the  days  and  the  hours  that  used  to  be. 


TAKING  THE  VEIL. 


SISTER  REGINA. 
SISTER  ALICE, 
LADY  ABBESS. 
EULALIE. 
CAPTAIN. 
A  BOY. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

A  nun. 
A  nun. 

A  young  lady  about  to  take  the  veil. 
The  lover. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE. — A  lonely  garden.     The  lover  alone,  standing 
as  though  waiting  for  some  one. 

Copt.  The  hour  for  our  meeting  draws  on.     Will 

she  dare 

To  risk  what  she  must  if  she  grant  my  wild  prayer  ? — 
Yet  she  promised. — This  waiting  is  horrible. — See  ! 
What  dream  of  delight  through  the  dusk  comes  to 

me  ! 


TAKING  THE  VEIL. 


153 


Eulalie  !  Eulalie  !     She  comes  through  the  gloom. 
Now  blest  am  I,  though  this  dark  spot  be  my  tomb. 
[Enter  Eulalie. ~\     He  starts  forward. 

Heaven  bless  you  for  coming. 

Eulalie.  Nay,  come  not  more  near. 

For  one  moment  alone  I  can  meet  with  you  here. 
My  footsteps  are  guarded ;    there  are  spies  every 
where. 

For  one  moment  alone  I  eluded  their  care, 
For  the  last  time  on  earth  to  say,  Farewell  forever, 
To  the  friend  that  I  loved.     For  fate  with  its  never 
Shuts  the  future  away  from  me.     This  is  the  end 
Of  my  life  in  the  world. 

Capt.  Think  you  I  would  send 

With  such  eagerness  hither  to  bid  you  to  come, 
When  I  knew  all  the  terrible  risks  you  would  run, 
With  no  purpose  beside  this,  to  whisper  the  last 
Tender  words  that  will  shut  out  forever  my  past? 
Not  so.     All  is  ready  to  bear  you  away 
From  this  horrible  death  again  to  life's  day. 
To-morrow  ere  this  we  two  will  be  far 


154 


TAKING  THE  VEIL. 


On  our  way  to  a  land  where  no  prisons  there  are 
Which  pretend  to  be  gates  unto  heaven. 

Eulalie.  Too  late 

Are  your  efforts  to  shake  off  the  bonds  of  my  fate. 
To-morrow  I  take  the  black  veil.     Nevermore 
Shall  I  look  in  your  face  as  I  once  did  of  yore. 
Let  me  go  !  Tempt  me  not !  I  am  sinful  and  weak. 

Capt    The  .hour  of  your  taking  it?  Eulalie,  speak. 

Eulalie.  Eight  o'clock  in  the  evening. 

Capt.  Not  so.     Oh  not  so ! 

For  six  is  the  hour  I  have  fixed  on  to  go. 

Eulalie.    I  cannot  escape  those  who  watch  me. 

Too  late 

Have  you  come.  Give  me  up,  give  me  up  to  my  fate. 
They  will  miss  me  if  here  any  longer  I  wait. 

Capt.  One  moment.     To-morrow  at  six  meet  me 

here. 

Some  way  you  will  find  to  escape.     Never  fear. 
And  then  we  are  safe.     Can  I  trust  you  will  come? 

Eulalie.  Risk  nothing  for  me.     I  am  used  to  the 
dumb 


TAKING  THE  VEIL. 


155 


Unquestioning  torpor  of  pain.     Let  me  die. 
I  cannot  escape  them. 

Capt.  But  say,  you  will  try. 

Only  that  much,  will  try  to  come  here  at  the  time 
I  have  set. 

Eulalie.  I  will  try,  and  farewell.  [Exeunt.] 

ACT  II. 

SCENE. — A  room  in  the  convent.      The  abbess  and  two 
nuns  seated. 

Sister  Reyina.  Holy  mother,  I  dread 

Lest  Sister  Ignatia  is  out  of  her  head. 
You  know  she  has  wept  until  even  tears  fail, 
Through  the  dread  which  she  has  of  taking  the  veil. 
But  a  change  has  at  last  come  over  her  mind. 
She   has   grown    to   be   cheerful,  and   seems   quite 

resigned 

To  the  holy  vocation  before  her.     I  think, 
Lest  her  mind  change  again,  now  she  stands  on  the 

brink 


156 


TAKING  THE   VEIL. 


Of  this  step,  it  were  better  to  have  the  thing  o'er, 
And  to  alter  the  hour  from  eight  unto  four. 
What  think  you  ? 

Abbess.     Why,  just  as  you  think  will  be  best. 
Perhaps,  if  'twere  done  now,  before  she  has  guessed 
At  our  plans,  since  you  say  she's  resigned, 
She  would  not  have  time  to  again  change  her  mind. 

Sister  Reyina.     (Rising.*) 

Then  I'll  let  it  be  known  that  in  thinking  it  o'er 
You  concluded  to  change  the  hour  to  four. 

Abbess.      (  Calling  her  back.) 
Let  a  messenger  straightway  be  sent  out  to  call 
To  my  aid  the  young  friar  of  Esk,  Father  Paul. 

[Exit  Sister  Reyina.~\ 

ACT  III. 

SCENE.  —  The  court       Sister  Regina.     Boy. 

Sister  Regina.    The  lady  superior  has  sent  her 

commands 

For  you  to  deliver  this  note  to  the  hands 
Alone  of  the  young  friar  of  Esk,  Father  Paul, 


TAKING  THE  VEIL.  ^7 

And  to  say  to  his  worship  to  make  ready  all 
That  is  needed  for  Sister  Ignatia  to-day 
At  four  instead  of  at  eight.     Now  away 
And  waste  not  a  moment  but  be  here  again 
Some  time  before  noon.     I  will  be  with  you  then. 

[Exit  Sister  Rcyinrt.~\ 

(Boy  stands  with  hands  in  pockets^)  [Enter  Eulah'e.~\ 

Eulalie.   Sister  Regina  has  been  with  you  ?    What 
did  she  say? 

Boy.  She  said  I  should  carry  this  letter  away 
And  tell  Father  Paul  he  should  be  here  at  four 
Instead  of  at  eight  as  she'd  planned  out  before. 
And  I'm  thinking  the  Captain  will  be  rather  late, 
If  he  waits  until  six  at  the  old  convent  gate. 

Eulalie.  You  have  done  so  much  for  me,  but  now 

will  you  go 

Straight  off  to  the  Captain  and  tell  him  I  know 
All  of  this,  and  unless  he  is  here  before  four 
My  face  upon  earth,  he  will  see  never  more  ? — 
But  how  can  I  see  him  ? — But  tell  him  to  come 
And  keep  Father  Paul  for  a  while  yet  at  home. 
Some  time  perhaps  I  can  repay  you  for  all. 


158  TAKING  THE  VEIL. 

Boy    All  right,  Miss,  I'll  try  to  keep  back  Father 
Paul. 

ACT  IV. 
SCENE. — A  room  in  the  convent. 

\Eulalie  seated.      Enter  Sister  Regina.~\ 

Sister  Regina.   Young  Sister  Ignatia,  the  hour  is 

so  near, 

It  is  needful  that  you  should  our  plans  at  last  hear. 
In  ten  minutes  hence  Father  Paul  will  arrive 
To  hear  your  confession,  your  spirit  to  shrive, 
And  to  make  you  without,  as  doubtless  you've  been 
For  a  long  year,  the  chaste  bride  of  heaven,  within. 
And  'tis  time  that  to  think  upon  this  you'd  begun. 
Eulalie.  To  think  of  it.     Yes.     But  one  moment, 

one, 

Leave  me  here  to  myself.     Let  me  think  of  the  past 
Ere  I  give  it  up  all.     For  the  last  time,  the  last, 
Leave  me  here  for  these  short  ten  minutes  alone. 


TAKING  THE  VEIL. 


159 


Sister  Reijina     But,  my  sister,  the  world  and  its 

follies  are  gone. 

They  are  all  dead  to  you.  Think  on  holy  things  now. 
'Tis  no  time  to  look  backward  on  follies  below. 
Eulalie.  O  spare  me  !     And  you,  you  are  young. 

In  the  past 

Had  you  never  one  hope  that  when  perished  at  last 
Left  the  whole  world  a  desert, — no  dream  of  delight 
That  when  faded  enwrapped  the  whole  world  in  its 

night  ? 

Oh  !  I  am  young  yet,  and  think  of  the  years 
In  which  I  must  pour  out  my  whole  life  in  tears, 
And  only  ten  minutes  left.     Leave  them  to  me. 
Sister  Reyina.  Well,  my  sister,  be  ready.     I  grant 
this  to  thee. 

[Exit  Sister  Reyina.~\ 

ACT  V. 

SCENE. — A  room  in  the  convent.       [Abbess  and  Sister 

Alice.'] 

Abbess.  But  how  ?  when  ?  and  where  ?     Who  left 
her  alone? 


160  TAKING  THE  VEIL. 

It  cannot  be  true.     Are  you  sure  she  has  gone  ? 
Gone  ?     Run  away  with  a  heretic  lover  ? 
The  thing  with  disgrace  the  convent  will  cover ! 
Who  left  her  alone  ?     Who  opened  the  gate  ? 
What  was  it  that  made  the  young  friar  so  late  ? 
Sister  Alice.  Why,  the  boy  that  you  sent  found  the 

roads  were  so  rough 

That  he  had  to  go  over  them  slowly  enough. 
And  just  at  the  corner  his  horse,  taking  fright, 
Tossed  him  over  the  fence,  and  was  off  out  of  sight. 
And  it  took  him  a  long  while  to  catch  him  again  ; 
And  when  he  did  catch  him  at  last,  mother,  then 
He  had  been  gone  so  long  that  the  friar  was  late. 
And  the  gardener's  son  left  open  the  gate, 
When  he  went  out  to  bring  in  some  turnips  he'd 

bought. 

And  poor  Sister  Regina,  she  certainly  thought 
Sister  Ignatia  needed  the  moments  alone 
To  prepare,  and  when  she  went  back  she  was  gone, 
With  herself  to  blame  for  it,  and  nobody  else. 


SOLOMON  GRUNDY. 

k-OLOMON  Grundy, 
3  Born  on  Monday, 

Christened  on  Tuesday, 

Married  on  Wednesday, 

Sick  on  Thursday, 

Worse  on  Friday, 

Dead  on  Saturday, 

Buried  on  Sunday : 

This  was  the  end 

Of  Solomon  Grundy." 

Mother  Goose. 

Solomon  Grundy  brief  his  life. 
Born,  and  christened,  and  took  a  wife, 
Sick,  and  ailing,  sinking,  dead, 
Put  in  the  grave  and  all  is  said. 

What  did  he  do  in  his  fourscore  years  ? 
Who  keeps  record  of  all  the  tears 


1 62  SOLOMON  GRUNDY. 

And  all  the  smiles  of  his  babyhood? 
Was  little  Solomon  sweet  and  good  ? 

What  did  he  wear  on  his  christening  day? 
Nurse  and  mother  have  passed  away. 
None  shall  tell  of  the  falling  lace, 
None,  how  sweet  was  the  baby  face. 

None  remembers  all  the  joy 

Of  the  mother's  heart  o'er  the  bonny  boy 

As  little  Sol  grew  tall  and  strong 

And  showed  that  never  could  he  do  wrong. 

None  remembers  the  bitter  pain 

When  the  mother's  heart  seemed  rent  in  twain, 

When  little  Sol  grown  strong  and  tall 

Met  one  day  such  a  dreadful  fall. 

And  the  servants  screamed,  and  the  doctor  came 
And  bound  poor  Solomon's  bruised  frame. 
But  aching  hearts  forgot  their  pain 
For  Solomon  soon  was  himself  again. 


SOL  OMON  GR UND Y.  1 63 

Who  keeps  record  of  all  the  years, 
Of  all  the  hopes,  and  of  all  the  fears, 
The  high  ambitions  of  college  days, 
The  Greek  and  Latin,  the  student's  praise, 

The  longing  for  something,  the  eager  thirst 
To  drink  of  the  fountain  whose  waters  burst 
From  the  cool  green  breast  of  the  Helicon. 
Where  Pegasus  drank  in  days  long  gone  ? 

Who  knows  the  noble  thoughts  and  true, 
Solomon  G.,  that  sleep  with  you? 
Under  the  daisies,  under  the  grass, 
You  hear  no  voices,  no  feet  that  pass. 

Solomon  loved  a  fair-faced  bride 
Sweeter  than  aught  in  the  world  beside. 
Who  knows  the  hopes  and  the  vague  unrest 
That  troubled  Solomon's  manly  breast? 

Perhaps  he  loved,  and  loving  lost, 
Perhaps  his  love  was  early  crossed, 


1 64  SOLOMON  GRUNDY. 

And,  sorrowing  over  a  wasted  life, 

His  heart  grew  stern  and  he  took  a  wife. 

Perhaps  the  wooing  went  smoothly  on 
Till,  his  sweet  betrothal  over  and  done 
And  a  tenderer  star  shining  down  on  his  life, 
Solomon  Grundy  took  a  wife. 

Then  came  the  strife  in  the  world's  broad  field. 
Who  shall  conquer  ?  and  who  shall  yield  ? 
O  Solomon  G.,  did  you  win  the  crown 
Of  a  victor  there  and  gain  renown  ? 

Or,  weary,  fainting,  sick  at  heart, 
With  none  to  soothe  your  wound's  fierce  smart, 
Turned  you  away  from  the  well-fought  field, 
Unable  to  conquer,  too  proud  to  yield  ? 

Did  you  bravely  bear  your  failure  then 
And  hide  your  hurt  from  the  sight  of  men  ? 
Who  shall  tell  ?  for  under  the  grass 
You  hear  no  voices,  no  steps  that  pass. 


SOLOMON  GRUNDY.  165 

For  Solomon  G.  grew  ill,  grew  ill  ; 
The  room  was  darkened,  the  house  was  still. 
There  were  bitter  tears  by  the  sufferer's  bed, 
And  tender  sorrowful  words  were  said. 

For  Solomon  G.  grew  worse  and  worse; 
Vain  were  the  efforts  of  friends  and  nurse. 
When  spring  was  wild  with  light  and  bloom 
Solomon  G.  went  down  to  the  tomb. 

Was  there  weeping  wild  in  the  stricken  home 
For  its  stay  and  prop  forever  gone  ? 
Who  shall  tell  ?     Low  under  the  sod 
Solomon  Grundy  sleeps  with  God. 


"Solomon  Grundy"  was  written  in  the  classroom 
as  an  impromptu  composition.  The  teacher  gave 
the  Mother  Goose  lines,  which  the  author  had  never 
before  heard.  Twenty-five  minutes  were  allowed 
for  the  composition,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time 
this  poem  was  produced  exactly  as  here  given. — ED. 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  VALENTINE. 

a  balmy  day  when  the  world  was  young 

St.  Valentine  went  wooing ; 
For  the  saint  himself  was  young  that  day 

And  his  suit  was  long  a-doing ; 
So  he  rode  along  by  field  and  wood 
One  line  of  thought  pursuing. 

"What  shall  I  do  to  win,  to  win, 

To  win  the  fair  Ignatia?" 
And  he  rang  the  changes  o'er  and  o'er. 

"Ignatia,  fair  Ignatia. 
What  shall  I  try  that's  yet  untried 

To  move  the  fair  Ignatia?" 

The  clouds  above  him  white  and  still 

Went  floating  by  unheeding, 
The  branches  waved  in  golden  light 

Unmindful  of  his  pleading, 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  VALENTINE.     1 67 

And  a  robin  red  sat  all  forlorn 
As  though  some  counsel  needing. 

The  good  saint  spoke  his  mind  aloud, — 

A  way  he  had  of  doing. 
"What  can  I  do  to  help  me  in, 

To  help  me  in  my  wooing  ? 
To  win  the  fair  Ignatia 

Who's  deaf  to  all  my  suing  ? 

Ignatia,  Ignatia  "- 

The  robin  interrupted. 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said, 

"The  world  is  all  corrupted. 
I'll  tell  you  how  to  win,  if  you 

Will  help  me  when  instructed. 

The  breath  of  spring  is  in  the  air, 

In  every  wind  a-blowing, 
Yet  not  a  bird  will  pair,  will  pair 

As  though  the  thing  not  knowing. 
There  '11  not  a  nest  be  built,  be  built 

Until  we  find  it  snowing. 


1 68     ORIGIN  OF  THE  VALENTINE. 

If  you  '11  just  say  it  's  balmy  spring 
And  not  bleak  February — " 

[They  had  another  word  for  Feb. 
In  those  old  days  and  merry, 

But  I  've  forgotten  what  it  is, 
A  learned  name  though — very.] 

"If  you  '11  just  say  it  's  balmy  spring 
I  '11  win  my  mate  to-morrow, 

And  then  to  aid  you  in  your  suit 
Such  potent  help  I  '11  borrow 

You  '11  win  your  fair  Ignatia 
And  rise  above  your  sorrow." 

The  good  saint  said,   "  In  this  your  plea 

I  '11  own  I  'm  interested. 
But  how  can  /change  what  is  made 

And  settled  and  attested  ? 
The  power  to  make  a  black  thing  white 

In  me  was  never  vested." 

"Just  say  the  word,"  replied  the  bird. 
"Last  week  in  Jove's  own  palace 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  VALENTINE.     1 69 

He  poured  some  red  wine  out  and  said, 
'There  's  white  wine  in  my  chalice; 

And  furthermore  this  silver  's  gold 
And  shall  be  gold  aut  nullus. '  ' 

The  good  saint  mused.     What  Jove  had  done 

A  private  saint  might  venture. 
"What  's  right  for  Jove  is  right  for  me," 

He  thought.     That  proved  a  clencher. 
At  least  it  led  to  something  else, 

And  that,  to  this  adventure. 

St.  Valentine  proclaimed  the  word. 

He  said  it  really  grieved  him 
The  birds  should  think  it  chill ;  to  say 

'Twas  balmy  spring  relieved  him. 
The  birds  they  shivered  in  their  shoes, 

But  every  bird  believed  him. 

And  robin  red  he  won  his  mate, 

But,  true  as  thrice-tried  armor, 
He  lingered  not,  but  kept  his  word 

And  left  his  lovely  charmer. 


I/O 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  VALENTINE. 

(His  deep  concern  expressing,  lest 
His  absence  should  alarm  her.) 

He  flew  up  to  the  silent  sky 

Where  whitest  clouds  were  flying. 

He  bore  away  a  fleecy  cloud 
Where  golden  light  was  lying, 

Where  the  Loves  had  lain  in  tranced  dreams 
And  perfumed  it  with  sighing. 

He  twined  about  it  every  flower 
That  blooms  by  summer  river — 

The  blue  Forget-me-not,  the  white 
Star-shaped  Love-me-forever. 

And  then  he  flew  to  Cupid's  court 
To  touch  it  with  his  quiver. 

St.  Valentine  he  mused  and  mused, — 
"What  shall  I  do  to  woo  her?" 

When  robin  red  came  down  and  said, 
"Just  please  present  this  to  her 

And  you  will  find  yourself  ere  long 
A  proud  and  happy  wooer." 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  VALENTINE. 

The  good  saint  doubted,  but  he  went, 
And  things  divine,  before  him. 

The  Loves  stooped  from  out  a  cloud 
Their  witchery  flung  o'er  him, 

And  the  valentine  the  gods  had  blessed 
Did  all  his  wooing  for  him. 


P.  S. — Lest  some  one  wise  should  hint  that  saints 

And  Cupids  do  not  tally, 
I'll  add  that  when  my  hero  made 

This  grand,  successful  sally 
He  was  not  yet  a  saint  at  all 

But  simply  known  as  Vally. 


171 


DIALECT  POEMS. 


FRANK  DE  LEE. 

fwill  tell  you  of  a  story 
That  was  told  one  time  to  me, 

WP 

«p>  When  I  dwelt  within  a  far  home 

i        By  the  "murmuring  Mexic  Sea;" 
And  my  negro  nurse  told  wondrous 

Tales  of  fairies  from  the  deep, 
And  mermaids  stealing  lovely  girls 

To  drown  them  in  their  sleep. 

The  solemn  pine-trees'  moaning  voice 

Would  mingle  with  her  tale, 
And  the  whip-poor-will  with  plaintive  tone 

Take  up  the  mournful  wail. 
Once,  when  the  light  and  darkness 

Were  blending  in  the  air 
And  a  haunted  feeling  filled  the  heart 

Of  childhood  unaware, — 
While  the  pine-knot's  ruddy  brightness 

Flared  flickering  on  the  wall, 


176  FRANK  DE  LEE. 

My  old  nurse  told  this  story 
Of  pride,  and  sin,  and  fall. 

"Mighty  hahd  and  cruel  mahstah 

Was  young  Mahstah  Frank  De  Lee. 
Such  a  man  as  he  was,  honey, 

May  youh  young  eyes  neveh  see. 
He  had  seven  hund'ed  people 

On  his  big  Red  Riveh  place, 
An'  he  owned  five  hund'ed  othehs 

Down  upon  de  Bayou  Teche. 

Dah  de  big-jawed  alligatohs 

Swam  along  de  bayou's  banks, 
An'  he  'd  t'row  de  leetle  child'en 

Right  among  deh  hungry  ranks. 
An'  de  whippin' -stocks  was  drippin' 

Wid  fresh  blood  streams  all  day  long, 
An'  de  very  aih  was  tawtched 

•Wid  de  soun'  of  screamin's  strong  ; 
An'  throughout  de  hull  wide  region 

Ob  de  Tuckapaw,  his  name 


FRANK  DE  LEE. 

Was  de  one  de  mahstahs  used 
To  make  deh  lazy  niggahs  tame. 

One  day  Mahstah  Frank  went  drivin', 

Drivin'  deeh  along  de  Teche 
Wid  de  blood-houns'  ob  his  trainin' ; 

An'  his  frien's  jined  in  de  chase. 
Long  dey  rode,  an'  foun'  no  deehs  dah  ; 

Fah  dey  rode,  an'  hot  de  day. 
Aftah  while  young  mahstah  foun'  him 

All  alone,  an'  fah  away 
From  his  own  plantation  buildin's 

All  alone — he  knew  not  whah. 
An'  de  dahk  come  gloomin'  roun'  him, 

But  he  could  not  see  a  stah. 
An'  a  feelin'  come  upon  him 

Ob  a  Presence  by  his  side, 
An'  he  felt  his  flesh  a-crawlin', 

An'  his  heaht  widin  him  died. 

Through  de  woods  he  saw  a  gleamin', 
Through  de  trees  he  saw  a  light, 


177 


I  78  FRANK  DE  LEE. 

An'  it  drawed  him  tawd  it,  tawd  it, 

An'  he  saw  a  feahful  sight. 
Sight  no  mawtal  saw  befohe  him, 

An'  no  mawtal  e'eh  will  see, 
Sight  dat  broke  de  cruel  sperit, 

De  hahd  heaht  of  Mahs.  De  Lee. 
He  had  mawied  a  young  lady, 

Miss  Helene  of  Pointe  Coupee ; 
An'  she  died  because  heh  heaht  broke, 

An'  heh  death  was  sad  to  see. 
But  he  saw  heh,  through  de  trees  dah, 

Wid  heh  beautiful  pale  face. 
An'  he  saw  two  blood-stained  bodies 

He  had  shot  on  Bayou  Teche. 

Ole  Judge  Lyon's  only  gran'son, 

Twenty-one  de  day  he  died, 
Wid  two  bullets  in  his  body 

An'  a  knife-cut  in  his  side. 
An'  Miss  Margy's  tall  young  husban', 

Fines'  man  along  de  Teche, 
Mahs'  De  Lee  had  took  offence  at 

An'  had  shot  befohe  heh  face. 


FRANK  DE  LEE.  i  79 

An'  he  saw  de  leetle  child 'en 

From  de  watahs  cold  arise. 
An'  dey  all  weh  starin'  at  him 

Wid  deh  great,  dead,  glassy  eyes. 
Long  he  tried  to  call  fo'  help  dah, 

But  he  could  not  make  a  soun', 
Or  de  win's  up  in  de  pine-trees, 

His  po'  callin's  must  ha'  drown'. 

No  one  knows  what  mo'  he  saw  dah  ; 

Fo',  upon  de  break  of  day, 
Frien's  who  had  been  sahchin'  fo'  him 

Would  not  take  de  kawpse  away. 
Black  it  was  an'  chah'd  wid  fyah, 

An',  when  some  one  touched  his  head, 
Fyah  leaped  up  from  his  eyeballs ; 

So  dey  tuhn'  an'  lef  him — dead. 

But  his  ghos'  still  walks  de  woods  dah, 

Still  it  leads  de  hunt  an'  chase ; 
An'  his  sperit  tole  dis  story 

To  a  man  on  Bayou  Teche. 


1 80  FRANK  DE  LEE. 

An'  dat  man  went  ravin'  crazy, 
Neveh  had  no  min'  agin. 

Dem's  de  consequinces,  honey, 
Of  pehsistin'  on  in  sin." 


THE  HIGH  WATER. 

|AH'S  a  place  in  Pointe  Coupee,  sah, 

Whah  de  riveh  used  to  flow. 
I  suppose  't  was  ten  or  twenty, 

Maybe  eighty,  yeahs  ago. 
Uncle  Jawge  says  when  he  come  heah 

De  ole  watah-cawse  was  full, 
An'  de  new  one  wasn't  dah  yet ; 

But  den  Uncle  Jawge  is  ole. 

Why,  when  he  come  to  dis  country, 

All  dese  piney  woods  you  sees 
Was  one  wavin'  fiel'  ob  cane-brakes, 

Wid  a  few  pehsimmon  trees 
Scattered  in  an'  out  among  'em, 

Not  a  gum-tree  in  de  state. 
Mighty  scanty  'coons  an'  'possums, 

Sah,  I  reckon,  at  dat  rate. 


1 82  THE  HIGH  WATER. 

Uncle  Jawge  tole  me  de  story 

Ob  de  big  high-watah  yeah 
When  de  riveh's  cawse  got  turned  so. 

Tell  you  ?     Ef  you  wants  to  heah. 
It  was  aftah  cotton-pickin', 

Almost  sugah-plantin'  time. 
Uncle  Jawge  lived  neah  de  riveh, 

An'  he  says  about  dat  time, 
You  could  see  de  watah  risin', 

Risin',  risin',  high  an'  strong, 
An'  de  han's  was  kep'  a-workin' 

At  de  levee  all  night  long. 

Night  an'  day  dey  worked  an'  worked  dah, 

Day  an'  night  de  watah  spread  ; 
In  de  dahkness  dey  could  heah  it 

Lappin   roun'  de  levee  head. 
Bayou  Rouge  was  ovehflowin' 

Oveh  on  de  otheh  side  ; 
An'  de  Chafalayah  Riveh 

Was  a  spreadin'  fah  an'  wide. 


THE  HIGH  WATER.  183 

On  de  wes'  bank  of  de  riveh 

Was  de  Mahstah's  big  white  house 
Wid  de  niggah  quahtahs  neah  it, 

But  between  was  Bayou  Bouse. 
It  was  nothin'  in  de  summah, 

An'  dried  up  one  half  de  yeah ; 
But  jes'  den  you  couldn't  cross  it 

'Dhout  you  had  a  dug-out  neah. 

So  de  Mahstah  stayed  across  it 

In  de  ovehseah's  place, 
An'  dey  say  he  got  so  changed  dah 

You  'd  a  hardly  knowed  his  face. 
But  he  stayed  out  on  de  levee, 

An'  de  niggahs  worked  deh  bes', 
But  de  watah  kep'  a-risin', 

An'  dah  wa'n't  no  time  fo'  res' ; 
An'  de  riveh  was  jes'  filled  wid 

Snags  dat  come  a-rushin'  down, 
An'  got  druv  into  de  levee 

An'  went  whirlin'  roun'  an'  roun'. 


1 84  THE  HIGH  WATER. 

An'  de  watah  got  so  swif  dah 

Seemed  as  if  mos'  any  day 
It  would  sweep  de  whole  embankmen' 

Of  de  levee  clean  away. 
But  de  boys  kep'  workin',  workin', 

Day  an'  night  an'  all  night  long, 
An'  de  watah  kep'  a-risin', 

Growin'  high  an'  growin'  strong. 
All  de  wes'  was  full  of  watah, 

Every  little  branch  was  high  ; 
All  de  eas'  was  ovehflowin' 

From  the  Rouge  an'  Chafalay. 

One  day  when  de  Mahstah  come  dah 

Dey  seed  de  levee  couldn't  las' ; 
But  he  tole  dem  up  de  riveh 

Dah  had  broke  a  big  crevasse, 
An'  a  heap  o'  men  was  drownded. 

"So,"  he  said,  "dah's  dis  ting  sho', 
Dat  will  take  de  weight  o'  watah, 

An'  you  needn't  work  no  mo' 


THE  HIGH  WATER.  185 

Like  you  have  been."     De  boys  watched  him 

As  he  walked  off  to  de  branch. 
Dey  had  all  guv  up  deh  workin', 

Waitin'  fo'  de  boat  to  launch. 

He  was  sittin'  in  de  dug-out 

On  de  watah  ob  de  Bouse, 
An'  he  called  to  Uncle  Jawge  to 

Come  an'  row  him  to  de  house. 
An'  dey  say  he  sot  dah  smilin' 

Lookin'  'crost  like  he  could  see 
Little  Eustace  at  de  window 

An'  young  Mistes  Eulalie. 

All  at  once  dah  come  a  sudden 

Soun',  like  thundeh  in  de  aih, 
An'  de  watah  swep'  de  levee 

Like  'twas  straw  dat  had  been  dah. 
In  de  bayou  rushed  de  riveh, 

In  a  minute  bofe  was  gone ; 
Fo'  de  bayou  was  de  riveh 

An'  dey  bofe  was  mixed  in  one. 


1 86  THE  HIGH  WATER. 

Fo'  de  watah  from  de  riveh 

Caught  de  watah  from  de  Bouse, 

Till  it  seemed  like  a  great  ocean 
Rollin'  down  upon  de  house. 

]>y  de  time  dey  heahd  dat  thundeh 

All  de  house  was  swep'  away  ; 
'Twa'n't  no  time  to  give  no  ohdehs, 

Not  a  minute  fo'  to  pray. 
l)ah  dey  two  weh  driftin',  driftin' 

On  de  riveh  big  an'  wide, 
Nothin'  near  but  floatin'  pieces, 

Snags  aroun'  on  every  side. 

Uncle  Jawge  says  Mahstah  sot  dah 

White  an'  still,  like  he  was  dead, 
Oazin'  wid  his  eyes  wide  open 

On  de  watah  straight  ahead. 
I  suppose  dat  he  was  stunned  like 

Wid  de  swif'ness  of  de  whole, 
An'  it  seemed  as  if  de  watahs 

Was  a-rollin'  o'eh  his  soul. 


THE  HIGH  WATER.  187 

It  grew  dahk  aroun',  an'  still  he 

Didn't  seem  to  draw  no  breff, 
An'  it  felt  like  floatin'  down  de  T 

Valley  of  de  Shade  of  Deff. 
Dah  he  sot  a-gazin',  gazin' 

Straight  ahead  wid  starin'  eyes, 
Till  he  seed  a  somethin'  neah  'em 

On  de  watah  fall  an'  rise. 

It  was  Mahstah  Eustace's  cradle 

Dat  had  got  out  from  de  house, 
An'  washed  up,  an'  now  was  floatin' 

Bottom  up'ards  do\vn  de  Bouse. 
Uncle  Jawge  says  when  he  seed  it 

Dat  he  jes'  throwed  back  his  head 
An'  slipped  down'ards  in  de  dug-out, 

So  he  guv  him  up  fo'  dead. 

An'  it  kep'  a-growin'  dahkeh. 

A  ft  ah  while  he  seed  a  stah, 
But  it  looked  so  white  an'  awful 

An'  it  seemed  so  still  an'  fah 


t  THE  HIGH  WATER. 

He  was  glad  de  clouds  come  driftin' 
Up  de  sky  an'  hid  de  light  ; 

Butvhe  says,  dah  was  an  awful 
Feelin'  roun'  him  all  dat  night. 

Fo'  de  watah  seemed  to  whispeh 

Or  to  sob  like  children's  cries, 
An'  when  it  got  light  a  little 

He  could  see  big  shinin'  eyes 
On  de  watah  all  aroun'  him, 

An'  the  watah  flash  an'  smile, 
An'  den  whispeh,  whispeh,  whispeh, 

Like  a  little  laughin'  chile. 

Den  he  seed  de  day  a-dawnin', 

Evenin'  come  an'  lef  him  dah 
All  alone  upon  de  haunted 

Watah  ;  den  he  knowed  no  mo'. 
Dey  was  picked  up  by  a  steamboat 

Dat  nex'  week.     But  no  one  knows 
What  it  was  dat  killed  the  Mahstah. 

Doctoh  said  de  shock,  he  s'pose. 


THE  HIGH  WATER.  189 

Uncle  Jawge  says  when  de  watah 

Settled  back  into  its  place 
Dat  it  lef  de  ole-time  channel 

Fo'  de  new  one  fuhdeh  wes', 
An'  dey  called  de  ole  False  Riveh. 

But  he  lef  ole  Pointe  Coupee  ; 
Couldn't  beah  to  think  of  Mahstah 

An'  young  Mistes  Eulalie. 

An'  he  says  fo'  long  month  aftah 

Dat  he  couldn't  shet  his  eyes 
But  he'd  see  Mahs'  Eustace's  cradle 

On  de  watah  fall  an'  rise. 
An'  he'd  heah  the  watah  whispeh, 

Whispeh,  whispeh,  like  a  chile, 
An'  he'd  see  it  flash  an'  quiveh, 

An'  he'd  see  it  dance  an'  smile. 

So  he  t'ought  he'd  leave  de  country. 

Eh  sah  ?  What  was  dat  you  say  ? 
What  became  of  all  de  niggahs? 

Oh  !  sah,  dey  was  swep'  away. 


JOHN  GAIR. 

OF   EAST   FEL1CIANA. 

)OU  see,  Boss,  dat  I  was  presen' 
When  dey  killed  John  Gaih. 

6®  No  one  knowed,  but  I  was  hidin' 
l£r 
»         In  de  pine  woods  dah. 

I  was  out  dat  night  a-huntin'. 

Bad  night,  sah,  fo'  coon  ; 
Fo'  you  see  'twas  light  as  mawnin', 

Dah  was  sech  a  moon. 

I  was  jes'  a-tuhnin'  homewahd, 

An'  my  tawch  was  out, 
When  I  t' ought  I  heahd  a  tramplin' 

An'  a  fah-off  shout. 

Dose  was  ticklish  times,  you  know,  sah, 
An'  I  t'ought  I'd  hide ; 


JOHN  GAIR. 

Dah's  no  tellin'  'bout  de  white  folks 
When  cley's  out  to  ride. 

Well,  de  soun'  kep'  comin'  neaheh, 

Till  dey  got  in  sight  ; 
Nigh  about  a  hund'ed  men,  sah, 

An'  deh  guns  was  bright. 

De)r  was  all  full  ahmed  wid  muskets, 

Carried  pistols  too, 
An'  I  couldn't  help  but  wondeh 

What  dey  gwine  to  do. 

I  could  heah  dem  all  a-talkin, 

Plain  us  you  heah  me, 
An'  I  foun'  dat  dey  was  waitin' 

Po'  John  Gaih  to  see. 

You  see,  he  had  been  arrested 

Down  to  Baton  Rouge, 
An'  he  begged  an'  prayed  de  sheriff 

Life  is  hahd  to  lose — 


192  JOHN  G AIR. 

Not  to  take  him  up  to  town  heah  ; 

Fo'  de  folks  had  said 
Ef  dey  caught  him  in  de  parish 

Dey  would  shoot  him  dead. 

So  I  knowed  dat  dey  was  waitin' 

Till  he  pass'  dat  way. 
You  could  easy  tell  what  den,  sah, 

An'  I  tried  to  pray. 

But  I  couldn't  think  o'  nothin', 

As  de  time  went  by, 
But  jes'  what  a  pretty  night  't  was 

Fo'  a  man  to  die. 

Oh  !  I  tell  you  it  seemed  hahd  sah, 

To  be  shot  down  dead, 
Wid  de  world  so  white  an'  shinin' 

From  de  moon  o'eh-head. 

An'  den  he  was  young  an'  strong,  sah, 
But  de  white  folks  t' ought 


JOHN  GAIR.  193 

'Lection  times  would  go  off  betteh 
If  John  Gaih  was  caught. 

Fo'  you  'd  hahdly  fin'  a  niggah, 

Hunt  de  parish  through, 
But  would  follow  whah  he  'd  lead  'em, 

An'  what  he  said,  do. 

Dah  I  sot  an'  watched  de  white  men — 

I  can't  tell  no  names. 
Fah  off?     Well,  I  knows  dat  too,  sah, 

But  I  tells  no  names. 

Dah  was  boys  not  oveh  twenty. 

I  could  see  dem  ride 
Roun'  an'  roun'  de  tree  below  me. 

An'  I  sot  an'  tried 

Fo'  to  pray  to  God  to  save  him, 

Po'  John,  from  dat  death  ; 
But  I  felt  so  sick  an'  dizzy 

Couldn't  get  my  breath. 


194  JOHN  GAIR. 

Aftah  while  I  heahd  a-tramplin', 

An'  I  shuck  wid  feah. 
Well  I  knowed  it  was  de  sheriff 

An'  de  men  wid  Gaih. 

All  got  still  as  death  aroun'  me, 

'Cept  de  hosses'  feet 
Soundin'  neah  an'  soundin'  neaheh, 

Like  de  death-watch  beat. 

An'  dese  little  quiv'rin'  owls,  sah, 
(Sign  o'  death,  dey  say,) 

Got  to  callin'  in  de  pine-trees 
Jes'  a  step  away. 

Dey  come  neah,  tuhned  de  corneh. 

Den  dey  was  in  sight ; 
Giah  was  ridin'  in  de  middle, 

Bofe  his  han's  boun'  tight. 

In  a  minute  dey  was  roun'  him, — 
Nigh  a  hund'ed  men. 


JOHN  GAIR.  195 

Dat  his  time  had  come  fo'  dyin' 
Gaih  was  cehtain  den. 

But  he  gazed  aroun'  him,  prayin' 

Dey  would  save  his  life. 
You  see  he  had  little  child'en 

An'  a  sickly  wife  ; 

An'  it's  hahd  to  die  like  dat,  sah. 

But  I  heahd  dem  say, 
"Too  late  now,  John.     Jes'  five  minutes 

LeP  fo'  you  to  pray." 

He  throwed  back  his  head  and  stahed  up 

At  de  shinin'  sky, 
An'  I  knowed  dat  he  was  thinkin' 

What  a  time  to  die. 

Dah  was  jes'  dat  look  about  him, 

In  his  strainin'  eyes, 
You  have  seen  a  wounded  deeh  have 

Jes'  befo'  it  dies. 


I96  JOHN  GAIR. 

Den  he  drapped  down  on  his  knees  dah 

•But  dey  couldn't  stay 
(Seemed  like  dey  was  in  a  hurry.) 

Fo'  po'  John  to  pray. 

Fo'  while  he  was  kneelin'  quiet, 

Some  one  shot  a  gun, 
An'  I  heahd  a  cry,  an'  den  de 

Shots  come,  one  by  one. 

Seems  to  me  dey  must  have  fihed 

Aftah  he  was  gone  ; 
Fo'  I  heahd  de  shots  long  aftah 

I  could  heah  him  groan. 

Dey  made  cehtain  dey  had  killed  him, 

Den  dey  rid  away. 
An'  I  come  down  and  went  to  him — 

It  was  light  as  day. 

An'  I  didn't  want  to  see  him 
Mangled  wid  de  shot ; 


JOHN  GAIR.  1 97 


But  I  couldn't  help  but  do  it, 
Wantin'  to  or  not. 

Oh  !  ef  you  had  seen  him  lyin', 

All  de  grasses  wet 
Wid  his  blood,  as  I  did,  mahstah, 

You  could  not  fo'get. 

He  was  riddled  wid  de  bullets, 

All  shot  troo  an'  troo, 
An'  his  po'  dead  face  was  awful 

Wet  with  bloody  dew. 

An'  somehow,  as  I  stood  by  him — 

Face  an'  head  all  wet 
Wid  de  red  drops — I  got  thinkin' 

Ob  de  bloody  sweat 

On  de  forehead  of  the  Mahstah, 

An'  I  t'ought  dat  he 
Had  seen  all  po'  John  had  suffered 

Betteh  fah  dan  me. 


198  JOHN  GAIR. 

An'  de  blood  drops  dat  was  scattehed 

'Neath  de  shinin'  skies, 
Like  de  blood  of  righteous  Abel, 

To  de  Lord  might  rise. 


THE  CARPET-BAGGER. 

E  Yankees  is  curious  people, 

Dey  's  curious  people  fo'  sho', 
An'  de  longeh  I  lives  fo'  to  see  it 
De  betteh  dat  knowledge  I  know. 

Back  heah,  long  in  Reb-time,  folks  tole  us, 
Jes'  as  sahtain  as  we  all  was  bawn, 

De  Yankees  had  eyes  in  deh  shouldehs, 
An'  in  front  of  deh  heads  was  a  hawn. 

Believe  it  ?     Why,  sahtainly.     Yes,  sah. 

Of  cawse,  we  believe  what  we's  tole. 
I  reckon  you  didn't  live  roun'  heah 

When  I  was  'bout  twenty  yeah  ole. 

Well,  when  I  fus'  look  at  a  Yankee, 
I  seed  he  had  eyes  in  his  head, 

An'  I  seed  he  hadn'  no  hawn  dah 
As  some  of  de  people  had  said. 


200  THE  CARPET-BAGGER. 

But  I  made  up  my  min'  in  a  minute 
De  white  folks  was  mighty  correc' 

In  thinkin'  de  Yankees  was  curious. 
You  think  dat  youhself,  sah,  I  spec'. 

Dey  hasn't  no  feelin's  of  honoh  ; 

I  Ve  heahd  dat  from  people  who  knows. 
I  neveh  knowed  none  but  dis  one,  sah ; 

But  dey  's  all  jes'  alike,  so  I  s'pose. 

Dis  one,  he  was  name'  Misteh  Lawrence, 

He  seized  a  plantation  fo'  debt, 
An'  de  gemman  he  swohe  he  would  shoot  him 

De  very  fus'  chance  he  could  get. 

An'  he  call'  him  a  reg'lar  gran'  rascal, 
Right  'fo'  de  bes'  people  in  town, 

An'  said  de  fus'  time  he  could  see  him 
He'd  sahtainly  shoot  him  right  down. 

Of  cawse,  Misteh  Lawrence  heahd  'bout  it, 
But  he  seem'  not  to  min'  in  de  leas' ; 


THE  CARPET-BAGGER.  20 1 

He  jes'  had  de  gemman  boun'  oveh 
By  de  jestice  to  keep  up  de  peace. 

An'  everyone  said  how  low-down  'twas, 

An'  jes'  what  a  Yankee  would  do, 
Dat  had  no  sensations  of  honoh  ; 

But  he  seemed  not  to  min'  dat  ah,  too. 

At  fus'  he  belonged  to  the  Bureau, 
He  was  gettin'  on  'bout  thihty-five. 

I've  seed  ign'ant  people,  but  he  was 
De  ign'antest  pehson  alive. 

He  said  aftehnoon,  sah,  fo'  evenin', 

An'  den  he  said  evenin'  fo'  night ; 
An'  long  as  he  live'  in  de  parish 

He  neveh  could  leahn  what  was  right. 

He  was  always  a-guessin'  an'  guessin', 
He  neveh  knowed  nothin'  fo'  sho'  ; 

An'  he  always  kep'  callin'  me  misteh, 
Till  I  tole  him  my  fus'  name  was  Joe. 


202  THE  CARPET-BAGGER. 

Den  dah  's  Peteh  dat  tole  me  about  him, 

Said  often  an'  often  he  'd  go 
An'  saddle  his  own  hoss  fo'  ridin', 

Like  as  ef  he  's  a  niggah,  fo'  sho'. 

He  lived  heah  in  town  seve'l  yeahs,  sah. 

He  was  sheriff,  an'  clehk  of  de  couht ; 
An'  den  he  was  made  ovehseeh 

Of  de  schools,  an'  things  of  dat  soht. 

He  was  jedge  fo'  awhile  in  de  parish, 
An'  aasessoh  one  yeah  fo'  awhile  ; 

Den  somethin'  dat  paid  him  fo'  ridin'— 
It  was  so  many  dollahs  a  mile, 

Jes'  heah  at  dis  minute  I  seems,  sah, 

To  be  disremem'rin'  de  name  ; 
But  I  know  dat  afteh  election 

Ole  Mahs'  Thomson  come  into  de  same. 

An' I  'm  sahtain,  when  dis  Lawrence  held  it, 
Of  heahin'  Mahs'  Thomson  declahe 


THE  CARPET-BAGGER.  203 

'Twas  enough  fo'  to  ruin  de  country, 
An'  de  office  ought  not  to  be  dah. 

'Long  de  time,  yeah  befo'  de  election, 
Dah  'd  quite  a  good  many  been  shot ; 

An'  I  heahd  a  hull  heap  of  opinions 
'Bout  some  soht  or  otheh  of  plot. 

An'  dis  Lawrence  got  mightily  pale,  sah ; 

An'  he  neveh  went  out  fo'  a  ride 
But  he  carried  a  pistol  right  heah,  sah, 

An'  one  in  a  belt  at  his  side. 

An'  one  night  de  white  folks,  'bout  thihty 

Or  fohty — about  dat  in  all — 
S'rounded  de  house  what  he  live'  in, 

An'  den  fo'  Mails'  Lawrence  dey  call'. 

You  see  he  'd  oppressed  all  de  people, 
An'  deh  duty  was  plain  'fo'  deh  face ; 

So  dey  went  dah  dat  night  fo'  to  do  it, 
An'  deh  chief  was  to  get  Lawrence'  place. 


2O4 


THE  CARPET-BAGGER. 


So  dey  call',  an'  de  fus'  thing  dey  knowed,  sah, 
He  stood  plain  in  sight  in  de  do', 

A  pistol  in  each  han',  an'  fihed 
Every  barrel  in  each  one,  fo'  sho'. 

Mo'  dan  dat,  he  tuk  steady  aim,  sah, 
An'  de  white  folks  was  so  tuk  aback 

Dat  he  slipped  away  in  de  dahkness, 
An'  dey  neveh  could  light  on  his  track. 

Of  cawse,  dey  had  mighty  big  times,  sah, 

An'  all  of  de  people  'roun  said  : 
What  a  bloody  thing  'twas  in  dat  Lawrence, 

What  a  good  thing  'twould  be  ef  he's  dead. 

An'  dey  talked  'bout  de  blood-thihsty  tyrant, 
I  remembeh,  in  church  de  nex'  week, 

An'  said  what  an  outrage  it  was,  sah, 
De  strong  ones  oppressin'  de  weak. 

But  dat  wa'n't  de  end  of  him  yet,  sah, 
You'd  a-t'ought  he'd  a-kep'  away  den  ; 


THE  CARPET-BAGGER.  205 

But  dah  ain't  no  accountin'  fo'  some  folks 
An'  one  mawnin'  he  come  back  again. 

De  people  dat  got  him  away,  sah, 
Had  tuk  all  his  b'longin's  of  cawse. 

Misteh  Allen  was  usin'  his  dwellin', 
An'  his  brotheh  was  usin'  his  hawse. 

But  what  did  dis  heah  Lawrence  do,  sah, 

But  get  out  a  bill  in  de  couht 
Agains'  de  bes'  men  in  de  parish 

Fo'  stealin'  de  goods  he  had  bought. 

An'  sence  de  jedge  an'  de  sheriff 

Was  bofe  of  'em  'Publicans  den, 
Dey  had  dose  dah  gemmen  arrested 

Fo'  dat  Yankee — de  meanes'  of  men. 

He  sol'  off  his  house  an'  his  gyahden  ; 

An'  de  jedge  heah  he  bought  up  de  hawse  ; 
An'  de  white  folks  was  bailed  out  o'  jail,  sah, 

By  deh  frien's  in  de  parish,  ot  cawse. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


SOUTHERN  WOODS. 

pji  H  wild  vast  woods  of  oak  and  tangled  vine 
Where  the  lithe  serpent  glides  o'  er  rotting  leaves 
Or  coils  his  sinuous  length  within  the  shade 
Of  the  rank  nodding  ferns  !     All  living  things 
That  love  damp  coolness  lurk  within  thy  shade 
And  people  thy  still  depths. 

The  air  dank, 

O'erladen  with  the  myriad  forest  scents, — 
The  rich  breath  of  the  ripening  muscadine, 
The  heavy  odor  of  magnolia  flowers, 
The  perfumes  rising  from  the  rich,  moist  earth, 
Which  sends  the  flowers  like  visible  music  up 
To  gladden  these  still  shades. 

Each  far  from  each 

In  glory  of  their  strength  the  great  trees  stand  ; 
While  twining  vines  like  twining  arms  of  love 
Reach  round  and  bind  them  strongly  each  to  each, 


2io  SOUTHERN  WOODS. 

Commingling  leaf  and  leaf  in  one  close  bond 
As  strong  as  life,  which  death  alone  can  part. 

And  over  all, 

And  mingling  with  the  perfumes  in  the  air, 
And  mingling  with  the  greenness  and  the  bloom, 
Of  perfume  and  of  beauty  each  a  part, — • 
The  voiceless  music  of  the  whispering  woods. 
One  moment,  and  it  seems  that  all  is  still, 
The  winds  are  hushed  ;  and,  wrapped  in  ecstacy, 
The  leaves  are  slumbering  on  each  slumbering  tree. 
A. spell  of  silence  broods  o'er  all.     But  list ! 
Far  off  the  singing  voices  of  the  winds 
Come  swelling,  swelling,  till  their  murmur  grows 
To  one  glad  burst  of  overflowing  sound 
That  gushes  round  and  o'er  the  swaying  leaves 
Like  water  rippling  o'er  a  bed  of  ferns. 


MISTLETOE.  2II 


MISTLETOE. 

SONG  of  the  mistletoe  bough  I  sing. 
She  dwells  in  a  home  of  eternal  spring. 
£Si4    The  tall  trees  whisper,  "O  come  unto  me  ! 

<5 

And  deep  in  my  heart  shall  your  sweet  home 

be." 

For  dainty  and  fair  is  the  mistletoe  bough, 
And  well  do  her  beauty  the  great  trees  know. 

She  cometh,  the  mistletoe  bough. 

Her  step  is  light  as  the  breezes  blow, 

And  the  sound  of  her  coming  is  soft  and  low. 

She  cometh,  she  cometh,  the  mistletoe  bough. 
She  sleepeth  soft  in  the  great  tree's  heart. 
No  sound  can  sever  her  dreams  apart. 
And  low  and  soft  is  the  amorous  tune 
Which  the  fond  old  trees  so  tenderly  croon. 
And  loving  and  soft  and  dainty  and  deep 
Are  the  dreams  she  dreams  as  she  lies  asleep, 

The  dreaming  mistletoe  bough. 

Low  and  tender  the  fond  winds  blow 


212  MISTLETOE. 

Their  whispering  voices  are  soft  and  low 
As  they  hush  the  dreaming  mistletoe  bough. 

Oh  the  mistletoe  bough  to  warm  life  wakes  ! 

'Tis  the  voice  of  love  that  her  slumber  breaks ; 

And  the  food  of  her  life  is  the  heart-blood  warm 

Of  the  staunch  old  tree  that  shields  her  from  harm. 

Oh  !  the  food  of  her  life  is  the  heart-love  strong 

Of  the  brave  old  tree  whose  tender  song 

Once  stilled  to  sleep  the  mistletoe  bough. 
The  wakened,  the  loving,  the  mistletoe  bough, 
Her  whispering  murmur  is  soft  and  low, 
Yet  well  she  loveth— the  mistletoe  bough. 

Though  cold  be  the  winter  and  dark  as  a  storm, 

The  sheltering  arms  wrap  her  closely  and  warm. 

Though  Winter,  the  ice  and  the  cold  snows  bring 

Forever  she  dwells  in  eternal  spring, 
The  dainty  mistletoe  bough. 
The  voice  of  her  song  is  tender  and  low. 
The  thought  of  her  heart  none  ever  can  know- 
Save  the  lovers  that  kiss  'neath  the  mistletoe 
bough. 


CEDAR  AND  PINE. 


2I3 


CEDAR  AND  PINE. 

iH  !  list  to  a  sorrowful  song 
Of  the  sorrowful  cedar  and  pine. 

They  are  proud  they  are  strong, 

Their  voice  a  song, 
And  the  breath  of  their  lips  is  like  wine. 

They  dwell  in  the  beautiful  north. 

They  dwell  in  the  beautiful  south. 
And  they  gather  the  snows 
Where  the  icy  wind  blows 

And  they  gather  the  sun  in  the  south. 

'Neath  the  snows  of  the  beautiful  north, 
'Neath  the  sun  of  the  beautiful  south, 

They  shiver  with  pain 

In  the  chill  icy  rain 
And  they  shiver  with  pain  in  the  south. 


2 1 4  DE  CORA  TION  DA  Y. 

The  best  song  they  know  is  a  sigh, 
Their  saddest  no  mortal  can  frame. 
But  their  voice  is  a  wail 
In  the  chill  northern  gale 
And  their  song  in  the  south  is  the  same. 


DECORATION    DAY. 

SONG  of  the  past.     A  song  for  the  brave. 
Lo  !    over  the  land  sweeps  the  battle's    red 

wave. 
Who  go  forth  to  battle  for  the  right  and   the 

truth 

In  the  first  flush  of  life,  and  the  first  pride  of  youth  ? 
Ye  have  seen  them,  ye  know  them,  your  brothers, 

your  sons, 

Through  their  veins  't  is  your  own  blood  so  hotly 
that  runs. 


DECORA TION  DA  Y. 


215 


'Tis  the  land   of   your  fathers  whereon  they  now 

tread, — 
The  land  for  whose  Treedom  your  fathers  have  bled. 

Above  them  the  banner  that  floats  on  the  air, 

Lo  !  the  stars  of  the  Union  and  stripes  are  all  there. 

It  was  borne  through  the  battle's  wild  turmoil  and 

strife 

When  the  country  we  love  first  struggled  to  life. 
It  has  gleamed  o'er  wild  prairies  and  lone  mountain 

gorge. 

It  cheered  the  brave  spirits  in  dark  Valley  Forge. 
It  has  waved  o'er  the  wild  heights  of  fair  Tennessee, 
And  seen  o'er  New  England  the  tired  British  flee. 

But  the  strife  waxes  fierce,  the  strife  waxes  sore. 
Sure  never  were  foemen  so  gallant  before. 
Nay,  for  from  the  same  land  have  the  enemy  come. 
In  their  long  ago  childhood  they  shared  the  same 

home. 

Brothers  all.    Brothers  all.    And  the  strife  waxes  sore. 
Is  the  end  yet  at  hand?     Do  the  foemen  give  o'er? 


2 1 6  DE  CORA  TION  DA  Y. 

Through  the  dark  cloud  of  battle  look  forth  on  the 

field. 

Is  the  end  yet  at  hand  ?     Do  the  enemy  yield  ? 
A  shout  as  of  victory  comes  from  the  host. 
A  wail  from  the  dying  on  the  wild  winds  is  tossed. 
And  woe  to  the  mothers  whose  sons  nevermore 
Shall  return  to  the  arms  that  enclosed  them  of  yore. 
And  woe  to  the  widows  who  long,  long  shall  mourn 
For  those  who  went  forth  nevermore  to  return. 
And  woe  to  the  country  whose  bravest  and  best 
On  the  red  soil  of  battle  have  fallen  to  rest. 

A  shout  as  of  triumph  !   The  struggle  is  done. 
The  smoke  clears  away.     The  battle  is  won. 
Oh  !  red,  red  with  blood  is  the  land  that  ye  love, 
But  the  flag  of  the  Union  still  floateth  above. 
Loud  and  long  peals  the  song  of  the  nation's  acclaim. 
But  where  are  the  soldiers  who  bled  for  her  fame? 

A  song  of  the  past,  yet  the  tale  is  not  said. 
Lo  !  my  song  of  the  past  is  a  dirge  for  the  dead. 
For,  O  weary  mourners,  no  more,  nevermore 
Shall  ye  see  the  dear  faces  ye  greeted  of  yore. 


DECORA  TION  DA  Y. 


217 


Down  low  in  the  fenlands  where  the  wild  cypress 

waves 
Have  the  loved  of  your  spirits  gone  down  to  their 

graves. 
There  no  tears  save  the  tears  of  the  night  dews  are 

wept, 
There  no  watch  save  the  watch  of  the  night  winds 

is  kept. 

There  no  flowers  are  strewn  on  the  desolate  sod, 
But  the  asters  shall  bloom  and  the  wild  golden  rod. 
The  wild  woodland  flowers  shall  deck  them  in  spring 
And  the  winds  shall  forever  their  requiem  sing. 

A  song  of  the  present.     Bring  flowers  to  strew 
The  graves  of  the  brave,  the  gentle,  the  true. 
Bring  the  roses  of  love  and  the  lilies  of  peace, 
And  mingle  their  bloom  with  the  fragrant  heart's- 

ease. 

Let  the  flowers  of  remembrance  be  scattered  to-day, 
Alike  on  the  graves  of  the  blue  and  the  gray. 
They  sleep  on  the  soil  for  whose  freedom  they  died. 
The  victor  and  vanquished  lie  low  side  by  side, 


218  ALL-MERCIFUL  LOVE. 

And  above  them  the  banner  that  floats  on  the  air, 
Lo !  the  stars  of  the  Union,  and  stripes  are  all  there. 
Keep  it  free !   Keep  it  free !  They  have  left  it  to  you 
With  their  hearts'  blood  upon  it — the  gentle  and 
true. 


ALL-MERCIFUL  LOVE. 

AM  trying  as  I  sit  here, 

Dear  Lord  of  eternity, 
To  think  how  thou  in  thy  greatness 

Canst  care  for  one  like  me. 

For  the  years  that  are  many  and  fleeting, 
And  more  than  a  man  can  name, 

Pass  slowly  on  in  their  courses 
And  thou  art  always  the  same. 

And  men  with  their  cares  and  troubles, 
Their  joys  and  their  clam'rous  woe, 


ALL-MERCIFUL  LOVE. 

Live,  strive,  and  sin  before  thee, 
And  then,  with  the  years,  they  go. 

Always  with  their  upturned  faces, 
They  call  to  thee  'mid  their  cares. 

Thou  growest  not  weary  of  hearing, 
Thou  never  art  deaf  to  their  prayers. 

But  it  seems  to  my  human  nature 
The  strangest  of  wondrous  things 

That  thou  in  thy  infinite  greatness 
Canst  care  for  the  little  things. 

For  the  sober,  brown,  little  sparrows 
That  chirp  on  the  garden  wall, 

For  the  child  asleep  in  the  shadows 
That  around  his  cradle  fall ; 

Ay,  even  the  brown,  little  sparrows 
Or  the  birds  in  the  maple  tree, 

Ay,  even  the  child  in  the  shadows, 
And  even  thou  carest  for  me. 


219 


220  ALL-MERCIFUL  LOVE. 

And  that  is  the  strangest  of  all  things 

I  think  as  I  muse  to-day, 
For  my  heart  is  full  unto  breaking 

With  a  sorrow  I  cannot  say. 

For  I  sin  and  wander  from  thee 

And  oft  into  evil  fall. 
How  canst  thou  care  for  one  like  me, 

Although  thou  carest  for  all  ? 

Yet  I  feel  a  sense  of  thy  mercy 

Into  my  spirit  steal, 
A  sense  of  thy  infinite  mercy 

And  love  so  true  and  so  real. 

And  I  pray  this  one  prayer  always 
For  myself,  for  those  I  love, 

Dear  Saviour,  help  us  to  serve  thee  here 
And  to  meet  thee  there — above. 


TRUST.  221 


TRUST. 

OMETIMES  when  I'm  very  tired 

Of  myself,  to  myself  I  say, 
Now  I  am  very  foolish, 

But  I  may  be  wise  some  day. 

Some  day  in  the  far-off  future 

When  this  dark  hair  is  gray, 
When  my  eyes  are  dull  with  sorrow 

Oh !  I  may  be  wise  that  day. 

When  my  brow  is  lined  with  trouble 
And  my  cheek  is  thin  and  pale 

And  the  brave  young  strength  of  springtime 
In  my  winter  begins  to  fail. 

But  I  sit  and  smile  in  the  sunshine 
Though  the  clouds  rise  dark  and  dun. 

I  look  not  before  to  the  tempest, 
I  sit  and  smile  in  the  sun. 


222  TRUST. 

Though  I  grow  old  and  older 
And  much  that  I  loved  is  dead, 

Though,  if  I  stop  to  listen, 
I  can  hear  the  ghostly  tread 

Of  the  silent  years  go  past  me ; 

Yet  I  cannot  seem  to  feel 
Any  more  than  a  child  does 

That  pain  and  death  are  real. 

I  look  out  into  the  future 
And  no  pathway  there  I  see 

But  I  know  however  I  wander 
That  God  will  care  for  me. 

And  whether  I  walk  thro'  the  shadows 
Or  whether  I  walk  thro'  the  light 

Why  should  my  heart  be  careful  ? 
I  cannot  but  go  aright. 

I  never  entered  the  shadow 

But  the  shadow  came  to  an  end  ; 

I  never  was  very  lonely 
But  God  gave  me  a  friend. 


EIGHTEEN.  22 

Life,  death,  and  the  far-beyond-me 

Are  shut  away  from  my  eyes. 
I  do  not  care  to  know  them. 

I  do  not  want  to  be  wise. 

Let  us  live,  and  be  glad  in  the  sunshine, 

Glad  in  the  light  of  the  skies, 
Glad  in  the  wide  earth's  beauty, 

And  let  us  not  seek  to  be  wise. 


EIGHTEEN. 

UT  eighteen  summers  have  passed  me  by, 

And  I  am  too  young  to  grieve. 
Though  my  love  has  come  and  my  love  has 
gone, 

There  are  joys  that  loss  can  leave. 

The  sky  is  as  blue  above  my  head, 
And  the  grass  beneath  my  feet 


224 


EIGHTEEN. 


Is  as  green  as  it  was  two  summers  agone 
When  the  dream  of  my  life  was  sweet. 

The  flowers  have  just  that  innocent  look, 
Heart  full  of  the  springtime's  soul, 

They  wore  when  he  stooped  to  pluck  them  for  me 
Where  our  stream's  bright  waters  roll. 

And  those  waters  move  as  clear  and  bright 

With  as  soft  melodious  flow 
As  they  did  when  we  wandered  together  there 

Two  long,  bright  summers  ago. 

The  maple  trees  in  their  living  green 

Are  as  fair  unto  my  eyes 
As  when  opened  between  their  stately  ranks 

A  vista  of  paradise. 

Why  should  I  sit  and  grieve  to-day 

For  the  dead  and  beautiful  past, 
For  the  vanishing  light  of  a  tender  dream 

Whose  glow  was  too  bright  to  last  ? 


THE  SCHOOL  MISTRESS. 

If  there  is  a  grave  within  my  heart 
Why  may  not  that  grave  be  fair  ? 

It  is  planted  o'er  with  forget-me-nots, 
And  there  's  heart's-ease  blooming  there. 

I  am  content  with  my  life  to-day. 

I  am  too  young  to  weep. 
The  flowers  bloom  and  the  warm  sun  shines 

And  the  laughing  waters  leap. 


225 


THE  SCHOOL  MISTRESS. 

STOOD  beside  the  window 

And  my  heart  was  o'er  the  sea, 
A-sailing  with  my  lover, 

Who  had  sailed  away  from  me ; 
And  the  tears  kept  coming,  coming, 

Though  I  tried  to  keep  them  back ; 
For  the  fierce  west  wind  was  blowing 

And  the  sky  was  wild  and  black. 


226          THE  SCHOOL  MISTRESS. 

There  came  a  step  behind  me, 

A  hand  was  on  my  hair, 
And  my  heart  'gan  beating,  beating, 

For  I  knew  not  who  was  there. 
Oh  !  my  heart  'gan  beating,  beating  ; 

For  I  thought  it  might  be  he — 
My  bonny,  gallant  lover 

Who  had  sailed  away  from  me. — 
But  't  was  the  poor  school  mistress 

Who  had  been  a  friend  to  me. 

She  had  a  tender  manner, 

For  she  had  sorrowed  too. 
She  kissed  me  very  softly 

As  my  mother  used  to  do  ; 
Till  I  forgot  the  west  wind 

And  the  wild,  dark  sea, 
And  the  fickle,  faithless  lover 

Who  had  sailed  away  from  me. 
For  I  thought  of  all  the  trouble 

That  had  come  to  her  sweet  heart ; 
How  the  cruel  hand  of  sorrow 

Had  rent  her  hopes  apart, 


THE  SCHOOL  MISTRESS. 

And  I  sat  a-dreaming,  dreaming 
Of  what  my  life  would  be 

If  I  lost  the  poor  school  mistress 
Who  had  been  a  friend  to  me. 

Oh  my  bonny,  gallant  lover  ! 

I  cannot  quite  forget 
All  the  happy,  happy  hours 

Of  the  vanished  summers  yet. 
But  my  bonny,  gallant  lover 

He  sailed  across  the  sea. 
And  'tis  the  poor  school  mistress 

Who  has  been  a  friend  to  me. 

I  had  a  sunny  vision 

Of  a  castle  great  and  fair 
All  built  of  gold  and  jewels 

And  founded  on  the  air. 
And  I  had,  to  enter  thither, 

A  bright  enchanted  key 
All  made  of  shining  jewels 

That  the  fays  had  given  me. 


227 


228          THE  SCHOOL  MISTRESS. 

I  went  into  a  country 

Where  were  robbers  fierce  and  strong. 
They  took  away  my  vision 

And  the  castle  of  my  song. 
They  banished  all  the  fairies, 

And  they  stole  the  golden  key, 
And  there  was  none  to  pity 

And  none  to  comfort  me. 

I  sat  down  in  my  sorrow 

In  that  dark  and  dreary  land, 
And  the  little  poor  school  mistress 

Came  and  took  me  by  the  hand. 
And  she  soothed  me  in  my  trouble 

Very  kind  and  tenderly, 
Till  I  ceased  to  mourn  my  castle 

And  its  bright  enchanted  key. 

My  bonny,  gallant  lover, 

He  sailed  away  from  me. 
My  fair  enchanted  castle 

I  never  more  shall  see. 


A  FRAGMENT. 

But  I  know  however  dreary 
My  future  lot  may  be 

The  little  poor  school  mistress 
Will  be  a  friend  to  me. 


229 


A  FRAGMENT. 

thou  woulds't  feel  the  glory  of  the  night 
And  have  her  beauty  sink  into  thy  soul, 
«p  Keep  thou  thy  spirit  free  from  earthly  dross 
T       And  yield  thee  not  to  sin's  unclean  control. 

In  holy  meditation  pray  thy  God 

To  purge  thy  soul  from  every  sinful  stain  ; 

Then  wander  'neath  the  stars,  the  holy  stars, 
And  bow  thee  down,  and  know  that  life  is  vain. 

Life  is  vain.     Oh  but  to  spurn  away 

This  vail  of  flesh,  and  rise  on  wings  of  light 


230 


A  FRAGMENT. 


To  yon  far  stars,  yon  bright  and  holy  stars 
That  gleam  upon  the  misty  veil  of  night ! 

Come,  O  ye  night  winds,  come  and  lay  your  hands, 
Your  hands  of  benediction  soft  and  light 

Upon  my  brow  and  draw  my  soul  more  near 
The  hushed  and  mystic  beauty  of  the  night. 


INDIAN  PIPE. 


INDIAN  PIPE. 

jj^NCE  over  a  beautiful  garden, 

J     All  radiant  with  color  and  bloom, 

j>  Where  the  winds  were  laden  with  fragrance, 

1        And  the  air  was  faint  with  perfume, 

A  flame  in  devouring  anger 

And  pitiless  passion  swept ; 
And  low  in  the  graves  of  their  brightness, 

The  beautiful  flowers  slept. 

And  there  on  a  sweet  summer  morning, 
When  the  ashes  were  sodden  with  rain, 

An  Indian  pipe  stood  uplifting 
Its  head  o'er  the  desolate  plain. 

Alone  in  its  motionless  beauty. 

Amid  all  that  blackness,  so  white, 
Like  a  pure,  bright  star  on  the  bosom 

Of  a  troubled  and  murky  night — 


234 


INDIAN  PIPE. 

A  delicate  spring-like  flower, 
So  waxen,  one  wondered  almost 

Whether  it  really  were  substance 
Or  only  a  hyacinth's  ghost. 

The  dream  of  a  flower,  down-fallen 
From  one  of  the  white  clouds  on  high, 

Once  blooming  with  myriad  others 

In  the  wide-spreading  fields  of  the  sky. 

A  fair  flower  saint  who  had  shrived  her, 
And  freed  her  from  passion  and  pain, 

And  apart  from  the  world  in  her  cloister, 
Kept  her  garments  of  life  free  from  stain. 

A  sad  flower,  telling  a  story 

Of  pain  with  its  sweet  woodland  breath  ; 
A  glad  flower,  whispering  softly 

Of  good,  and  of  life  out  of  death. 

A  beautiful  flower  to  teach  us 
'  A  lesson  of  patience  and  trust, 


If  You  Held  Your  Hand  To  Me.         235 

Like  a  white  soul  unsullied  by  trial, 
Unsoiled  by  earth's  dimness  and  dust. 

Like  the  light  that  shall  shine  out  of  darkness, 
Like  the  good  that  from  evil  shall  come, 

Like  a  finger  of  light  pointing  upward, 
Straight  up  to  the  heavenly  dome. 


IF  you  held  your  hand  to  me, 
Standing  closely  by  my  side 
Saying,  "Darling,  come  to  me 
Be  my  own  and  live  with  me." 
I'd  not  lay  my  hand  in  yours,  though  you  stood  here 
by  my  side. 

Our  life  paths  lie  far  apart. 
Spite  of  grief  and  spite  of  pain, 


236         If  Y°u  Held   Your  Hand  To  Me. 

Though  I  felt  within  my  heart 
Great  hot  tears  of  anguish  start, 
You  and  I  walk  not   together,  spite  of   grief  and 
spite  of  pain. 

Listen  to  me  far  away, 
Soul  of  him  I  used  to  love, 
Grieving,  well  I  know,  to-day 
For  a  time  gone  by  for  aye, 
Grieving  for  the  false  one  whom  you  used  to  love. 

Can  you  hear  my  whisper  low 
In  the  far  away  south-land  ? 
Does  your  heart  beat  fast  and  slow 
At  a  sound  you  used  to  know, 
At  the  murmur  of  a  whisper  in  the  far  south-land  ? 

Listen  !  I  am  false  'tis  shown  ; 
Well  you  know  it  by  that  sigh. 
But,  if  all  were  fully  known, 
Would  you  deem  me  cold  as  stone  ? 
Yes  :   you  deem  me  false  and  trait 'rous  by  that  weary 
sigh. 


If  You  Held  Your  Hand  To  Me.         237 

Listen  !  fleeting  years  may  go 
Joy  and  gladness  bring  to  me, 
Bring  they  joy  or  bring  they  woe 
Joy  like  that  I  used  to  know 
Comes  no  more  on  earth  for  me,  heartsick,  weary  me. 

From  my  hand  I  took  your  ring, 
Poor  hand  thus  left  desolate. 
If  another  love  should  bring 
Other  ring  more  glittering 

Still  my   hand   and    I    forever  are  ungemmed   and 
desolate. 

Do  you  hear  me,  lover  mine, 
Where  the  balmy  breezes  blow  ? 
By  the  fragrant  jasmine  vine 
Do  you  lonely  sit  and  pine 

For  a  breath  to  match  in  sweetness  fragrance  of  the 
long  ago  ? 

I  am  very  false  to  you. 

Yet  the  days  will  sometimes  find 


238        If  You  Held  Your  Hand  To  Me. 

Something  very  fond  and  true 
In  my  heart,  a  dream  of  you. 
This  is  all  the  coming  days  will  ever  find. 

Soul  of  him  I  used  to  love, 
Do  you  ever  fondly  dream 
Of  the  nights  when  clear  above 
Shone  the  moonbeams,  and  our  love 
Made  the  whole  wide  world  unto  us  an  enchanted 
dream  ? 

Do  you  dream  of  moments  bright 
Gone  away  to  come  no  more  ? 
All  alone  you  sit  to-night. 
Love  has  faded  and  love's  light 
Has  gone  out   to  shine  for  us,  dear,  never,  never 
more. 

Listen,  far  away,  to  me, 
Soul  of  one  I  used  to  love, 
Think  a  tender  thought  of  me, 
Though  my  faith  so  slight  may  be, 
Think  one  tender  thought  to-night  of  her  you  used 
to  love. 


FLOWERS. 


239 


FLOWERS. 

^f  HE  life  the  flowers  live 
dpi 

j!)      Is  a  life  of  light  and  bloom, 

XcP 

%G\  Of  dreams  of  glory  tangled 

S^Y 

In  meshes  of  perfume. 

The  love  the  flowers  know 

Is  a  love  of  rare  delights, 
Of  fervid  sun-god  kisses, 

Of  solemn  star-lit  nights, 

Of  splendor,  wealth,  and  beauty, 

Of  glory  passing  thought, 
With  evanescent  sweetness, 

And  weird  enchantment  fraught. 

The  death  the  flowers  die 

Is  a  falling  into  sleep, 
When  the  sunlight  dreams  to  moonlight 

And  all  light  to  darkness  deep. 


240 


A  STORM. 

And  the  dew,  oh  the  dew  ! 

Like  a  tender  blessing  falls, 
And  the  earth,  oh  the  earth  ! 

Like  a  tender  lover  calls. 


A  STORM. 

1  HE  sun  kissed  the  water, 

And  a  cloud  flew  away, 
White  as  a  snow-flake 

Or  as  storm-driven  spray. 

Fair  as  the  mountains 

Of  the  still  land  of  dreams, 
Beautiful  as  woven 

Of  the  white  moonbeams. 

The  storm  king  arose 

In  his  strength  and  pride  ; 


A  PRAYER. 

Whispered  to  the  cloud  sprite, 
"Come,  be  my  bride." 

Into  his  arms  she  floated, 

Kiss  of  the  sun, 
How  danced  the  merry  rain 

Ere  day  was  done  ! 


241 


A  PRAYER. 

BATHER,  the  twilight  gathers  close  around  me, 
The  way  is  long  and  dim,  I  cannot  see. 

-(3 

The  sun  of  hope  is  setting  and  the  night  tide 
Comes  stealing  o'er  the  dull  earth  silently. 

Throughout  the  hours  of  sorrow  long  and  dreary 
Which  wait  before  the  coming  of  the  day, 

My  heavenly  Father,  be  thou  ever  near  me, 
Let  thy  sweet  starlight  brighten  round  my  way. 


242  THE  EMPTY  NEST. 

I  know  that  o'er  the  hills  in  glaring  splendor 
The  sun  may  rise  into  my  eager  ken — 

That  many  a  happy  day  in  the  far  future 
May  gleam  above  my  sad  life  once  again. 

But  while  the  night  her  lonely  watch  is  keeping 
Let  moonbeams  o'er  me  shed  their  quivering  light, 

Until  the  silvery  glimmer  of  their  presence 
Be  merged  into  the  infinite  of  light. 


THE  EMPTY  NEST. 

OULDST  thou  know  the  infinite  pathos  of  life 

Behold  it  here. 
These  leaves  that  were  once  so  fresh  and  green 

Are  brown  and  sere. 


And  the  nest  where  the  baby  birds  once  slept 
'Neath  the  wings  of  love 

Is  open  to  every  storm  that  blows 
From  the  skies  above. 


THE  EMPTY  NEST.  243 

Once  what  twittering  life  was  here, 

Now  far  away, 
When  here  in  the  shadows  the  birdies  sang 

Through  the  warm  spring  day ; 

Building  deftly  with  dainty  care 

The  little  nest, 
Telling  their  stories  of  love,  and  hope 

Of  the  summer's  best, 

Singing  their  songs  till  the  world  was  glad 

With  their  winsome  joy, 
When  earth  was  fair  and  when  love  was  young 

And  without  annoy. 

Here  in  the  shadows  the  baby  birds 

Woke  into  life  one  day. 
Here  they  twittered  and  chattered  and  talked 

All  the  summer  away. 

Hence,  when  their  wings  were  grown,  they  flew, 

Whither  none  know. 
And  the  poor  little  nest  is  open  to  day 

To  storms  that  blow. 


244  THE  EMPTY  NEST. 

II 

I  know  a  home  that  lies  in  the  land 

Of  the  wide,  dim  past, 
Where  the  shadows  of  years  that  have  passed  away 

Are  around  it  cast. 

Here  in  a  chamber  old  and  wide 

A  cradle  stands 
Once  swung  too  and  fro  in  the  olden  time 

By  loving  hands. 

Here  in  the  downy  depths  within 

Was  the  baby  laid, 
Here  in  the  pillow  is  the  impress  still 

Of  the  baby  head. 

Once  what  wonderful  life  was  here, 

Now  far  away, 
When  the  baby  laughed  and  cooed  and  smiled 

Through  the  summer  day. 


THE  EMPTY  NEST. 

Here  in  the  rooms  the  children  played 
'Neath  the  smiles  of  love; 

Hence  they  have  wandered,  wide  and  far, 
Through  the  world  to  rove. 


Ill 


Never  more  will  these  leaves  grow  green, 

Now  brown  and  sere  ; 
Never  again  will  the  birdies  come 

That  builded  here. 

But  other  leaves  will  as  freshly  grow 

Another  spring, 
And  above  in  the  shadows  other  throats 

Will  as  blithely  sing. 

And  none  will  remember,  none  will  grieve 

For  what  is  gone. 
The  present  with  all  its  wealth  is  here, 

The  past  is  done. 


245 


246  DEAD  LOVE. 

Oh  empty,  pitiful  nest !  my  eyes 

Are  dim  with  tears. 
Oh  lonely  home  still  fair  with  the  light 

Of  vanished  years  ! 

The  days  go  by,  and  all  things  fade 
With  the  fading  years 

Into  the  land  of  forgetfulness. 
What  worth  are  tears  ? 


DEAD  LOVE. 

ITTING  beside  my  early  dead 
)  With  folded  hands  and  drooping  head 
I    And  heart  slow  throbbing  in  its  pain, 
I  think  upon  the  dead  of  Nain. 

I  know,  O  God,  that  it  is  sin 
To  pray  for  life  to  enter  in 


DEAD  LOVE. 

This  still,  cold  form  that  lieth  here 
All  white  and  wan  upon  its  bier. 

0  God,  I  seek  not  to  complain  : 
My  dead  is  not  the  dead  of  Nain. 
And  yet  I  think  how  brightly  ran 
The  quickened  blood  when  life  began 
To  pulse  along  each  sluggish  vein 

Of  him  who  long  in  death  had  lain. 
How  softly  up  his  cheek  there  stole 
The  flush  of  the  awaking  soul, 
As  rosy  light  illumes  the  skies 
Soon  as  the  day  begins  to  rise. 
Such  vision  soothed  her  spirit's  pain 
Who  wept  beside  her  dead  in  Nain. 

1  think  of  it  and  cannot  pray 
To  see  the  breaking  of  the  day 
Across  the  darkness  of  my  pain. 
My  dead  is  not  the  dead  of  Nain. 

My  dear,  despised,  early  dead, 
Above  thee  never  tears  are  shed. 
I  crush  my  own  back  whence  they  came 
For  every  drop  proclaims  my  shame. 


247 


248  DEAD  LOVE. 

Yet,  if  I  dared,  would  prayer  be  vain  ? 
The  dead  was  raised  of  old  in  Nain. 

My  dead,  my  child,  my  life,  my  soul, 
In  that  thou  diest,  there  dies  the  whole 
Of  life,  or  light,  or  love  for  me. 
What  other  joy  had  she  of  old 
Who,  wild  with  sorrow  uncontrolled, 
Walked  weeping  in  the  funeral  train 
That  passed  through  the  gates  of  Nain  ? 

I  can  but  dream  that  in  thine  eyes 

I  see  the  wakened  life  arise. 

I  can  but  think  of  what  thou  wert 

Soft-nestling  on  my  tender  heart. 

I  cannot  pray  amid  my  pain 

That  thou  shouldst  wake  like  him  in  Nain. 


A  HAUNT. 


A  HAUNT. 

HERE  the  sunbeams  quiver 
O'er  the  woodland  mould, 

Where  the  breezes  shiver 
Through  the  tree-tops  old, 


Fragrant  boughs  magnolian, 
Whisp'ring  boughs  of  pine, 

Like  some  harp  aeolian 
Breathe  a  voice  divine. 

Something  sweet  and  holy 
Wraps  the  place  around, 

Tender  melancholy 
Lingers  in  each  sound. 

In  the  forest  olden, 
When  the  day  is  low, 

When  the  sunbeams  golden 
Quiver  ere  they  go, 


249 


250  A  HAUNT. 

Mem'ry,  softly  breathing 
Tender  thoughts  of  yore, 

Brings  back  many  an  evening 
That  will  come  no  more. 

Spot  where  sweetest  fancies 
Blossomed  long  ago, 

Home  of  bright  romances 
Fleet  to  come  and  go, 

Wrapped  in  tender  visions 
Brought  by  spirits  three 

From  the  fields  elysian 
Long  ago  to  me, — 

Fairest  be  thy  flowers 
Of  the  summer's  bloom  ; 

Peaceful  be  thine  hours 
In  the  forest  gloom. 


A  SUNSET. 


251 


A  SUNSET. 

IT  was  long  ago. 

Soft  sunset  light  shone  over  earth -and  sea. 
The  east  was  rosy-tinted  like  the  past. 
The  west  was  red  with  glory  like  the  days 
That  are  to  be ;  and  now  the  day  was  done. 
Far  up  the  shining  west  an  angel's  hand 
Had  open  flung  the  gates  of  Paradise, 
Letting  the  light  of  heaven  steal  softly  through 

* 

To  paint  the  glow  of  heaven  upon  the  sky  ; 

Purple  and  red  and  broadly  gleaming  gold, 

The  light  of  jasper  and  of  amethyst, 

Till  the  stars  shone,  each  several  star  one  pearl. 

And  the  moon  floated  up  the  far  horizon 

All  white  and  wan  with  dreaming  holy  dreams, 

Drifting  from  some  enchanted  land  beyond, 

The  spell  of  that  enchantment  still  upon  her, 

Wrapping  a  misty  veil  about  her  face 

That  she  might  dream  the  better  in  that  cloud. 


252  A  SUNSET. 

The  tossing  sea 

On  many  a  flashing  billow  caught  the  light 
And  wore  it  for  a  diadem  awhile  ; 
And,  surging  upward  toward  the  far  still  moon, 
The  treasure  she  had  given  clasped  closer  still 
And  changed  it  into  pearls  that  hid  away 
In  the  deep  bosom  of  the  heaving  main. 
Wide  were  the  heavenly  gates  above  the  sea ; 
And  whispering  through  them  came  a  gentle  spirit, 
Soft-sighing  zephyr  breathing  o'er  the  sea, 
Laden  with  balm  from  heaven's  healing  shore, 
Kissing  the  earth  with  benison  of  peace. 

The  whispering  winds 

Came  from  the  plains,  laden  with  incense  clouds 
From  the  far  forest  temples  where  they'd  lingered. 

All  around  was  still ; 

Save  that,  afar,  within  those  forest  temples 
The  pines  were  chanting  low  their  evening  hymn. 


PAST  AND  FUTURE. 


253 


PAST  AND  FUTURE. 

LOFT  we'll  fly  on  the  wings  of  the  wind, 
With  nevej  a  thought  of  those  behind. 
The  land  we  leave  is  black  with  night. 
Before  us  spread  the  realms  of  light, 
Where  rosy  clouds  float  over  the  sky 
And  rosy  waters  beneath  them  lie. 
Oh  waters  kissed  to  a  tender  glow 
By  the  clouds  above  them  that  stoop  so  low  ! 
Oh  waves  that  bloom  like  a  splendid  flower, 
Into  red  or  white,  in  sun  or  shower  ! 
But  every  shower  is  a  golden  rain  ; 
For  heaven  is  in  love  with  hill  and  plain, 
And  every  drop  on  bud  or  tree 
Repeats  the  story  of  Danae. 
O'er  hill  and  hollow,  away  and  away, 
The  wild  winds  fly  and  never  stay. 
Behind  us  the  land  is  black  with  night, 
Before  us  stretch  the  realms  of  light. 


254 


LOUISIANA. 


But  the  moonlight  shines,  and  the  soft  stars  glow, 
And  the  hushed  white  waters  softly  flow, 
When  night  comes  down  with  darkness  deep 
And  hushes  the  world  to  dreamy  sleep. 


LOUISIANA. 

1877. 

OULDST  thou  see  Louisiana? 

By  the  "murm'ring  Mexic  Sea1 
Lonely  and  sad  and  desolate 

And  beautiful  sits  she. 


Her  heart  is  sore  with  many  wounds, 
Her  eyes  are  dim  with  tears. 

She  counts  her  losses  o'er  and  sees 
No  hope  in  coming  years. 

Her  hands  have  lost  their  scepter  proud 
Her  brow,  its  diadem. 


LOUISIANA. 

There  's  blood  upon  her  fair  white  feet 
And  on  her  garment's  hem. 

There  's  silence  on  her  borders. 

No  voice  of  man  is  heard  ; 
Only  the  chanting  of  the  pines 

Or  song  of  forest  bird. 

There  's  strife  within  her  cities. 

Want  sitteth  at  her  gate. 
Behold  her  house  unto  her 

Is  left  most  desolate. 

Her  orange  groves  are  many, 
Her  cotton  fields  are  fair, 

And  proudly  float  the  tresses 
Of  her  canes  upon  the  air. 

But  a  viper  's  in  her  bosom, 
A  blight,  upon  her  brow. 

How  are  the  mighty  fallen  ! 
The  beautiful  laid  low  ! 


255 


256  THE  DEA  TH  ANGEL . 

And  so  Louisiana, 

By  the  "murm'ring  Mexic  Sea," 
Sits  clothed  about  in  garments  fair  ; 

But  who  so  sad  as  she  ? 


THE  DEATH  ANGEL. 

ZRAEL  Angel  of  Death. 

His  pinions  are  white  as  the  snow ; 
His  eyes  are  as  dark  as  life's  eclipse. 
He  gathers  our  souls  with  a  kiss  of  his  lips, 

Then  we  sigh  not  for  long  ago. 

O  beautiful  Angel  of  Death  ! 

What  a  light  in  those  mystical  eyes  ! 
When  it  shines  on  our  souls  all  troublings  cease 
And  their  waters  lie  still  as  the  River  of  Peace 

In  the  Garden  of  Paradise. 


PARTING. 

There's  a  vale  where  the  Angel  of  Death 

To  welcome  our  spirits  stands ; 
There  the  shadows  are  lying  so  still  and  deep 
And  silence  and  beauty  forever  sleep, 
In  the  mystical  Border  Lands. 


The  Valley  is  calm  and  still ; 

The  Shadow  is  cool  and  deep. 
After  the  tumult,  the  noise,  and  the  blare ; 
After  life's  long  turmoil,  and  light,'  and  glare, 

'Tis  sweet  in  that  vale  to  sleep. 


257 


PARTING. 

ET  me  rest  once  more  upon  thy  heart. 
'T  is  the  last  time,  beloved,  't  is  the  last. 
Even  on  thy  breast  how  slowly,  slowly  beats 
My  heart  that  in  the  old  days  beat  so  fast. 


258  PARTING. 

Let  me  once  more  lie  close  within  thy  arms, 
Let  me  once  more  feel  thy  soft  kisses'  breath ; 
For  there  will  be  no  loving  arms  to  hold  me, 
Nor  loving  kisses  in  the  night  of  death. 

I  shrink  back  from  the  darkness  of  the  shadow ; 
For  you  are  here  and  I  must  go  alone, 
And  you  will  hunger  so  with  eager  longing 
To  see  my  face  again  when  I  am  gone. 

And  then  when  all  your  heart  is  sick  with  longing, 
Soft  eyes  of  love  will  shyly  look  at  you, 
And  haunt  you  in  the  dark-time  and  the  light-time, 
And  you  will  vainly  struggle  to  be  true. 

And  then,  I  know,  the  effort  will  grow  fainter, 
And  sweeter  grow  the  music  of  her  tone  ; 
And  after  while  you  '11  give  your  sweet  love  to  her, 
The  tender,  strong  love  that  once  was  my  own. 

Beloved  one,  forgive  these  foolish  tear-drops. 
Forgive  me ;  love  me  ;   't  is  the  last,  last  time. 


ABSOLVO  TE. 

Forever  in  my  ears  I  hear  the  mingling 

Of  moaning  funeral-knell  and  wedding-chime. 

Oh  I  am  very  weak  !  and  it  grows  darker. 
Oh  love  me,  love  me,  love  me  more  and  more  ! 
Oh  hold  me  closer  !  for  I  hear  the  dashing 
Of  icy  waves  upon  an  icy  shore. 


259 


ABSOLVO  TE. 
I 

a  vast  cathedral  dim  and  old 
A  maiden  knelt  in  her  sorrow  cold, 
Telling  her  sin  with  sigh  and  tear 
T    And  grief  it  was  pitiful  to  hear. 
Till  the  priest  stooped  low,  and  tenderly 
Whispered  to  her,  "  Absolvo  te." 


260  ABSOLVO  TE. 

II 

Dear  Saviour,  here  at  thy  feet  I  lie, 

And  the  outside  world  with  its  pomp  goes  by. 

I  wait  and  listen  with  eager  ear 

The  words  of  peace  and  life  to  hear. 

Answer,  my  Saviour,  speak  to  me, 

Say  to  my  soul,  Absolvo  te. 

Ill 

I  ask  not  for  gifts  of  wealth  and  ease, 

For  the  vain,  sweet  things  that  mortals  please. 

I  even  ask  not  to  lie  on  thy  breast 

And  taste  the  bliss  of  thy  perfect  rest. 

But  I  pray  thee,  my  Saviour,  speak  to  me, 

Say  to  my  soul,  Absolvo  te. 

IV 

I  lie  at  thy  feet,  I  will  not  go. 

I  will  wait  for  thy  blessing  even  so. 


ABSOLVO  TE.  26l 

Thou  wilt  not  send  me  empty  away ; 
For  thy  God-spirit  broke  for  me  one  day. 
Then  answer  me,  Saviour,  speak  to  me, 
Say  to  my  soul,  Absolve  te. 


V 


"Absolve  te,"  and  I  'm  white  from  sin  ; 
Into  thy  grace  I  may  enter  in. 
"Absolve  te,"  and  the  mighty  God 
In  my  mortal  soul  shall  make  abode. 
I  wait,  I  wait,  O  speak  to  me  ! 
Say  to  my  soul,  Absolve  te. 


VI 


Absolve  te.     The  world  is  wide, 
But  its  joys  can  never  my  sorrows  hide. 
Thou  alone  canst  give  me  release, 
Thou  hast  the  gift  of  eternal  peace. 
Answer  me,  Saviour,  speak  to  me, 
Say  to  my  soul,  Absolve  te. 


262  DOUBTS. 

VII 

I  am  thine  own,  thou  liv'st  for  me; 

I  am  thine  own,  thou  lovest  me. 

Holy  thou  art,  but  thy  life  didst  give 

That  sinful  souls  might  forever  live, 

And  thy  blood  that  was  shed  for  all,  for  me, 

Answereth  for  thee,  "Absolvo  te." 


DOUBTS. 

L<3  N  angel  came  from  the  sky  one  day 

And  whispered,  "Peace  be  to  thy  soul." 
I  sat  by  the  ocean  and  watched  the  waves 

Sweep  in  with  their  surging  roll, 
And  a  strange,  sweet  peace  came  after  the  words 
To  brood  o'er  my  troubled  soul. 

I  watched  the  billows  come  sweeping  in 
Crested  with  foam  caps  white. 


THE  BABY. 

The  sky  was  far,  the  words  were  gone, 
The  salt  spray  dimmed  my  sight. 

How  do  I  know  that  the  angel  spake  ? 
Or  I  heard  his  words  aright  ? 


263 


THE  BABY. 

jOU  have  heard  how  the  gate  of  dreamland 

Lies  near  to  the  gate  of  day. 
Our  baby  was  going  to  dreamland 
And  he  wandered  and  lost  his  way. 

The  gate  of  dreams  is  of  crystal, 

And  golden  the  gate  of  light. 
We  thought  he  had  gone  to  dreamland, 

But  he  went  up  to  heaven  in  the  night. 

He  smiled  in  his  sleep,  and  we  whispered, 

"What  do  the  angels  say?" 
We  thought  him  in  dreamland,  when  gone 

To  heaven  thro'  the  gates  of  day. 


264  7  WEEP. 


I  weep 
For  one  who  shrank  from  treading  the  stern  and 

towering  steep, 
And  turned  into  the  valleys  where  the  smiling  waters 

leap. 

I  pray 
For  one  who   walks  in  sunlight  on    a  broad   and 

pleasant  way 
Where  are  flowery  meadows  smiling  to  welcome  feet 

that  stray. 

I  smile 
For  one  who  lingered  with  us  but  a  short  and  sunny 

while, 
And  in  heaven  with  the  angels  keeps  his  spirit  free 

from  guile. 


WEAVING.  265 

God  sees  my  tears, 
God  hears  my  prayers, 
God  loved  the  little  child 
And  kept  him  undefiled. 


WEAVING. 

HAT  kind  of  a  woof  doth  the  maiden  weave, 

Weave  in  her  sunlit  dreams, 
While  in  and  out  of  the  shining  web 
The  sparkling  shuttle  gleams, 
And  the  yellow  light  of  her  hair  so  bright 
In  a  golden  glory  streams  ? 

She  weaves  a  dainty  and  delicate  web 

Of  bud  and  flowery  bloom, 
With  warp  of  fancy  and  filling  of  love 

All  woven  in  beauty's  loom, 
With  a  sunny  shine  in  the  web  divine 

As  it  comes  from  beauty's  loom. 


266  WEAVING. 

What  kind  of  a  woof  do  the  weird  Fates  weave 

In  their  solemn  silence  cold  ? 
Dread  is  the  silence ;  dark,  the  web, 

And  the  shuttle,  rough  and  old. 
What  do  they  weave  that  the  angels  grieve 
As  they  bend  down  to  behold  ? 
Forever  and  ever,  they  weave  and  weave 

In  cold  and  quivering  gloom, 
With  warp  of  sorrow  and  filling  of  woe 
All  woven  in  life's  dark  loom, 
With  tangled  threads  in  somber  webs 

That  only  suit  the  tomb. 

But  the  shining  angels  weave  a  woof 

Fragrant  with  rare  perfumes 
With  warp  of  trial  and  filling  of  love 

All  woven  in  heavenly  looms. 
And  Fate's  dark  thread  or  youth's  bright  web 

Before  it  fades  and  glooms. 


LOVE. 


LOVE. 

HE  soul  stands  silent  and  voiceless, 

Its  power  unknown,  unguessed, 
Till  the  touch  of  love  awakes  it 

And  calls  it  from  its  rest ; 
As  the  sighing  voice  of  ^Eolus, 

Sweeping  from  o'er  the  sea, 
Wakes  the  lonely  silent  wind-harp 

Unto  perfect  melody. 

The  soul  that  has  felt  love's  beauty 

And  has  seen  that  beauty  die 
Can  never  again  at  its  summons 

Awake  to  a  sweet  reply  ; 
As  the  harp  when  its  chords  are  broken 

Is  silent  forevermore, 
Though  yEolus  sweep  in  his  power 

Up  from  the  dim  sea  shore. 


267 


268  THE  RING. 


THE  RING. 

JOU  have  lasted  long,  bright  band  of  gold, 
Though  the  love  that  gave  you  's  dead  and 

cold, 

And  the  hand  that  wore  you  's  bought  and  sold, 
And  the  fair,  fleet  days  that  came  of  old 
Have  passed  away  like  a  tale  that  's  told. 

Bright  as  of  old  you  glitter  here, 
Undimmed  by  the  breath  of  many  a  year 
That  was  carried  away  on  its  funeral  bier, 
When  winds  of  winter  were  wild  and  drear, 
When  leaves  of  winter  were  sad  and  sere. 

Hands  which  trembled  when  you  were  new  ; 

Lips  that  vowed  so  true,  so  true ; 

Cheeks  that  blushed  with  the  warm,  sweet  hue 

Of  red  June  roses  for  you,  for  you  ; 

How  changed  !  how  changed  since  you  were  new  ! 


GONE. 

Hands  that  clasped  are  far  apart. 
Sundered  wide  is  heart  from  heart. 
That  which  was  made  of  the  jeweler's  art 
Is  stronger  than  that  of  the  human  heart, 
And  the  ring  will  shine  though  lovers  part. 


269 


GONE. 

HUNGER  and  thirst  for  a  sight  of  my  darling, 
The  flying  gold  gleam  of  her  beautiful  hair, 
The  smile  that  enthralled  me,  the  voice  that 

enchained  me, 
The  fall  of  her  light  foot  on  floor  or  on  stair. 

I  long  for  the  beautiful  bride  of  my  spirit, 

The  soul  of  my  soul  who  will  never  be  mine, 

Who  grew  weary  of  earth  and  the  world's  winsome 

wooing, 
And  one  day  went  higher  to  taste  the  divine. 


270 


MEL  US  IN  A. 


She  rose  in  her  beauty  from  earth's  dark  enfolding, 
From  grave  dust  to  wander  in  heaven's  high  halls. 
But  my  heart,  in  her  own  held,  lies  under  the  grasses, 
And  never  will  rise  until  Death  to  me  calls. 

Till  Death  whispers,  "Here  in  the  warm  earth  is 

waiting 

A  home  that  is  narrow  and  silent  and  deep  ; 
Come,  dwell  in  this  house  I  have  fashioned  to  hold 

you 
And  drink  the  deep  draught  of  Lethean  sleep." 


MELUSINA. 

ISTEN,  my  children,  listen, 

To  the  voice  of  the  wild  salt  sea." 

"Oh  !  we  hear  it  calling,  calling, 
And  the  gleam  of  its  waves  we  see. 


MELUSINA. 

Come  up  from  the  wild  salt  water. 

We  are  cold  and  wet  in  the  spray, 
And  the  sea  is  calling,  calling, 

Calling  our  lives  away. 

O  sing  us  a  song  of  the  sunshine 
That  falls  upon  flowers  and  trees, 

Until  we  forget  the  billows 

And  the  swell  of  the  surging  seas. 

And  loosen,  loosen  your  tresses, 
All  yellow  and  shining  and  fair. 

O  sing  us  a  song  of  the  sunshine 

While  we  tie  up  your  shimmering  hair." 

The  lady  unfastened  her  tresses 

Till  they  fell  in  a  flood  to  her  knee, 

But  the  bright  golden  hair  as  she  loosed  it 
Fell  shimmering  green  like  the  sea. 

Oh  !  the  lady  sang  of  the  sunshine, 

But  the  children  shrank  from  her  knee ; 


271 


272 


MELUSINA. 

For  the  musical  sound  of  her  singing 
Was  the  rippling  voice  of  the  sea. 

"O  listen,  listen,  my  children  ! 

Shrink  not  away  in  fear. 
List  to  the  ocean  voices 

And  tell  me  all  that  ye  hear. 

Look  over  the  shining  waters 
And  tell  me  all  that  ye  see. 

And  kiss  me,  kiss  me,  children ; 
And  will  ye  remember  me  ?" 

"O  tell  us  where  thou  art  going  ! 

The  waves  rise  up  to  thy  knee. 
O  tell  us  where  thou  art  going 

Away  on  the  cold  false  sea  ! ' ' 

"Out  on  the  rippling  waters 

I  am  going  far  away  ; 
For  the  sea  is  calling,  calling 

To  my  heart,  and  I  cannot  stay." 


A   VALENTINE.  273 


A  VALENTINE. 

fF  I  were  a  leaf  on  a  tree, 
And  you  were  the  wind  from  the  west, 
?  Would    you   waft    me    away   in    your    strong 
embrace  ? 
And  pillow  my  head  on  your  breast  ? 

If  you  were  the  sun  in  his  strength, 

And  I  were  a  morsel  of  dew, 
Would  you  lift  me  away  from  my  low  estate  ? 

And  carry  me  nearer  you  ? 

If  you  were  a  king  in  the  east, 

Should  I,  in  the  east,  be  a  queen  ? 
Should  I  sit  by  your  side  on  a  throne  of  gold 

All  sparkling  with  diamond  sheen  ? 

Should  I  dwell  in  an  ivory  palace 

With  odors  of  musk  in  my  hair, 
While  a  tall  eastern  king  should  lie  at  my  feet 

And  music  should  fill  the  air  ? 


274 


FLOWERS. 


If  you  were  the  king  among  men, 

And  only  my  love  were  mine, 
Would  you  single  me  out  from  all  maidens  on  earth 

To  choose  me  your  valentine  ? 


FLOWERS. 

March  the  violets  come, 

For  April,  daffodillies. 
May  and  June  the  roses  bloom, 

In  July  the  lilies. 
In  August  comes  the  golden  rod, 

Asters,  in  September. 
In  October  leaves  grow  red 

And  fall  off  in  November. 
Then  the  flowers  go  to  sleep 

In  their  warm  earth-houses. 
Every  one  through  all  the  long 

Winter  snow-time  drowses. 


SONNET  TO  KEATS. 

But  when  spring  comes,  up  they  start, 
Stretch  their  hands  a  minute, — 

"Time  to  do  our  summer's  work, 
Violets,  you  begin  it." 


275 


SONNET  TO  KEATS. 

POET  whose  great  soul  shrank  back  from  death 
Seeing  the  mighty  things  of  life  so  well, 
Longing  to  leave  upon  all  time  the  spell 
And  power  of  thine  own  poetic  breath 
Breathing  itself  into  such  forms  that  Death 
Should  have  no  power  to  weaken  or  dispel 
Their  fair  immortal  life  !     Though  darkness  fell 
So  early  on  thy  eyes  and  hushed  thy  breath, 
I  hold  thee  blessed  beyond  compare 
That  thus,  while  all  thy  life  was  in  its  prime, 
Ere  came  the  weakness  or  the  cold  despair 


276 

Of  failing  powers,  thou,  borne  from  the  shores  of 

time 

On  through  the  gates  of  morn,  wide-flung  and  fair, 
Didst  waken  radiant  in  a  sunnier  clime. 


HAVE  much  to  do, 

I  have  much  to  say. 

While  time  and  tide  are  slipping  away. 

With  my  thought  unsaid  and  my  work  undone 
Time  and  tide  are  gliding  on. 
I've  a  song  to  sing  so  sweet  and  clear 
The  world  shall  pause  from  its  toil  to  hear. 
The  world  shall  forget  its  toil  and  pain 
And  yearn  to  list  to  my  song  again. 


THE  END. 


DATE  DUE 


GAY  LORD 


PRINTED  IN  U    S 


!     000  554  556 


